


Under the Yellow Roof

by kiddle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1960s, 1970s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Childhood Friends, College, Coming of Age, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Musician Harry Styles, Musician Louis Tomlinson, Recreational Drug Use, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddle/pseuds/kiddle
Summary: “Are we really going to do this?”“Louis, you’re asking me to run away with you. You realize that?”“I’m not asking anyone else.”Colorado, 1972: Louis is a gifted musician spending his days on the wrong side of a drive-thru window. Harry is the lead singer of a band in need of a little talent. Their big break is a thousand miles away.Colorado, 1962: First day of middle school.A lot can happen in ten years.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 52
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! After fighting months of writer's block, I'm so excited to finally share what I've been working on!  
> Just a few notes: this story is told partially through flashbacks, but I tried not to make it too overwhelming so most of it does take place in the 1970s. The alcohol and drug tags are only for very minor mentions and relevance to the times. If you'd like to find me on Tumblr, I'm at [kiddleau](https://kiddleau.tumblr.com/) I'm always happy to chat there or in the comments!  
> Thank you so much for checking this out! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> -K <3

It’s quite bold to proclaim your life is going nowhere at twenty-two years old with half a degree under your belt, when the world has been built for you to succeed, and when you have a job that pays you enough to make rent every month, but that was exactly where Louis felt his life was going. Nowhere.

“You’re out of the band, man,” were the last words Louis heard before he left the church basement on 92nd street, where he spent his childhood Sunday mornings and where he’d recently been spending his Wednesday nights. Louis joined Still Daffodil on a whim seven months ago, thinking he might as well do something with those dreams he had stored in the back of his mind after realizing an English degree really wasn’t for him. It was fine, Louis decided after taking the long way home to brood in the late summer evening. He’d been feuding with the lead singer ever since a group vote swapped him from lead guitarist to bassist when the guy who already had the most time in the spotlight thought he needed to rock a few solos of his own. That was on Louis, he supposed, for letting them know from the start that he could play pretty much any instrument they had an opening for. And he could sing. And he already had a song recorded—that didn’t get more than a week of radio play.

What the hell did he need those guys for, anyway? He’d been mentally checked out of their rehearsals for weeks and the countless bar shows they had been playing were becoming more painful every night. Nothing was worse than a drummer with a habit of missing a beat. They were the amateurs here, not him.

But Louis woke up the next morning realizing the only place he had to go was the Fotomat he’d been working at with all the other dropouts still deciding what they wanted out of life. Eight hours every day of sitting alone on a hard chair in a kiosk in the middle of his local grocery store parking lot, staring at nothing but rolls of film and envelopes full of vacation and family reunion photos. Sometimes he’d go through the pickups when he really wasn’t supposed to, but who was around to stop him? It was a mild kind of torture to see captured images of people at their best. Dressed to the nines or having the time of their lives at Disneyland. Disney was about a two-day road trip from northern Colorado, where Louis was born and raised. It would be a fun week with friends, he supposed, but he was running short on those lately.

With a deep sigh, Louis leaned his chair on its back two legs, propping one of his feet up next to the till in front of him. The sun was blinding between the trees of the neighbourhood across the street, striking his eyes through the drive-thru window. He yanked the curtain closed even though he wasn’t supposed to when they were open. But there was no one around and he wasn’t in the mood to care about needless rules. Slurping on the can of Coke he brought with him because he preferred to get his caffeine that way, he pulled out his lyric book.

Louis was not a poet. In fact, the pretentious and dull poetry class he took in his second semester at college was crucial to his decision to drop out a year later. He didn’t like the confusion of poetry and the rules despite the fact that it was an art form that claimed to be free of them. Don’t get him wrong, he was confident in his own writing, he just didn’t want to be taught how to do it. 

But one look under the cover of that notebook would reveal pages and pages of poetic garbage. Some of it was great, and a couple had even ended up as actual songs back when Louis was performing at bars solo before he gave up on that too. Most of it was scribbled chicken scratch. That was just his process.

He held the notebook against his knees, tracing dark lines with his pen across the last words he wrote last night. It was some bullshit angsty heartbreak harnessed from his high school first love mixed with the anger of being sacked from a band that he was the best instrumentalist in. Sometimes that kind of emotion makes for a perfect writing session, and sometimes it’s a diary entry you never want to see the light of day.

Louis bit the end of his pen, rereading the words on his page. ‘Heart’ had to be the most overused word in love songs, and he had it down in every verse and the chorus. Love songs weren’t even what he wanted to write about. It wasn’t the only feeling out there. It sure as hell wasn’t the most predominant one in his mind.

A loud and abrupt knock on the window made Louis nearly leap out of his seat. His notebook and pen tumbled to the ground as he dropped his feet from the desk. He yanked on the string to make the blind spring back up, knocking his Coke over in the process. He picked it up just as quick, groaning at the mess it made. All the commotion caused the stack of pickup envelopes next to the widow to splay out over the desk in front of him. Now that the customer could see him, he tried to push them all out of the way before he slid the window open.

“Hi, welcome to— Shit!”

One of the envelopes had landed in the small puddle of spilled Coke. He tried to wipe it off on his jeans as quickly as he could before returning it to the scattered pile with the others. Once he finally composed himself, he tried to greet the customer properly.

But then his face fell to disgust.

“What are you doing here?”

“You left so quickly yesterday, we didn’t have the chance to talk,” said Harry, the lead singer of Still Daffodil, Louis’ former going-nowhere band. Harry had one hand casually rested on the steering wheel, the other elbow poking out the window, and sunglasses sitting low on his nose. Louis hated how effortlessly cool he could always look. It made him the perfect goddamn lead singer.

Louis rolled his eyes. “What did you want me to do? Beg for you to let me stay? ‘You’re out of the band’ was pretty loud and clear.”

“I mean, I thought we could have a discussion about it,” Harry said hopefully.

“So you showed up to my work to have a discussion about it?” Louis hunched over so just his face was sticking out the window, his fist squished into his cheek to hold his head up.

“You wouldn’t answer the phone last night.”

“Take a hint,” he snapped, then slid the window shut with enough force to make it bounce halfway open again. He pushed it the rest of the way closed in a huff.

But Harry hadn’t driven away yet, so Louis slumped over in his chair and refused to look in his direction. Why the hell would he show up here? Just to rub it in his face? The new guy always loses the band argument. Louis was over it, and he had the faint remnants of a hangover to prove it.

He took a swig of his Coke that was now almost empty. No one ever left any napkins around here, but a few tissues seemed to do the trick by sopping up that puddle. As he tried to avoid getting sticky hands, Louis could see Harry getting out of his car in the bottom corner of his eye. Then he heard the window opening again.

“Louis, listen to me,” Harry pressed. He had his hand in the way so Louis couldn’t shut it, but it did cross Louis’ mind to crush his fingers just to get him out of here.

“Go away,” he stated, pulling the roller blind between them. If only it was soundproof.

The blind sprung up again, revealing a wildly frustrated Harry on one side and an indifferent Louis on the other. He was pretending to read a copy of Vogue that one of the girls from the after-school shift left behind last night.

“We have a meeting with a record company in LA and they’re expecting a four-piece to show up. There’s no time to find a new bassist, so you’re back in the band.”

Louis folded down one corner and peeked his eye over Carrie Fisher’s head.

“How’d you get a meeting? The band sucks.”

Harry stared at him, angrily chewing on his lip, then turned around with a huff. “Fuck you,” he muttered, opening his car door to get back in.

Louis waited for him to start the engine and leave, but then the words “LA” and “record company” flashed with lights and sirens in his head, and he imagined this opportunity driving off and never looking back.

“Wait!” Louis called out, tossing the magazine to the side and launching himself out the back door. He ran across the front of the car and slammed his hands on the hood so Harry couldn’t move an inch further. They eyed each other, and when Louis trusted that Harry wouldn’t speed off the moment he moved, he ran around to the passenger side and got in.

Harry shook his head, both hands gripped tight on the steering wheel. “I’ve been dealing with your bullshit for ten years, man,” he said.

So maybe Louis wasn’t being totally truthful about what happened with the band.

Louis met Harry in their first year of middle school. They ended up in the same gym class, which was hell for every twelve-year-old, but for people like Louis and Harry, it was just a little too much to bear. They found skillful ways to ditch whenever possible, especially when it came to running the mile. Sometimes they’d hang out near the back of the group when everyone was filling out the gym doors, then slip out the side and circle the building before the teacher saw. The equipment closet was full of hiding spaces that begged to be taken advantage of. The best days were when they had a substitute who wouldn’t even notice that they never came back from a bathroom break in the change room.

In high school, they drifted, hanging out in the same group of freaks and burnouts, but not often with each other. They’d find themselves at the same parties and bickering in the same cars full of friends, but that initial bond had faded. Once college rolled around, they weren’t surprised to find out they’d be going to the same state school, but discovering their dorms were across the hall from each other was quite the shock.

They had become inseparable again, except for the inevitable monthly fights that left them not speaking to each other for days or even months at a time. That went on for about two years until Louis dropped out and Harry continued with his literature degree. During that time, they hardly saw each other at all. Louis began to wonder if their friendship had only ever been one of convenience. But just as the year of 1972 was beginning, Louis got a phone call from that on-and-off best friend of his asking if he wanted to join his band. 

Harry and Louis fought from day one, but just as much as they hated each other’s guts, they loved each other too. Louis would still consider Harry his friend, but he would have no problem telling him what an insufferable bastard he was right to his face. It was a brotherly bond. Sort of.

“How’d you get the meeting?” Louis asked, turning sideways in his seat. “When is it?”

“We sent in our demo and they want to talk to us. That’s it,” Harry said. “The meeting is next week and they want all of us there.”

“Me included?”

“You’re on the demo.”

The demo was pretty shit if you asked Louis, but he decided to keep that to himself. They recorded it at their old college in the crummy basement studio run by students, and you could guess that by the first listen. 

Louis looked out at the empty parking lot ahead of them. He had memorized every detail of this parking lot. It had become the scenery for his life. He couldn’t wait until he never had to look at it again.

“Do you actually want me back in the band?” Louis wondered, sincerity in his voice for once.

“I—” Harry started, but didn’t look him in the eye. “I want to be at a place where you could be in the band without the two of us constantly at each other’s necks.”

“That would be nice, yeah,” Louis sighed.

They sat in silence, Louis weighing his options and Harry wondering if he really should’ve taken that ignored phone call as a hint.

“So, what, is this to discuss an album deal?” Louis asked, hoping more detail might help his decision.

“It’s to discuss our potential. They didn’t tell me a whole lot, but if they want to spend their time on us then they gotta have some hope.”

A car horn blared loudly behind them—an impatient customer waiting his turn to desperately develop the photos from his five-year-old’s birthday party, surely. It startled them, but that was Louis’ cue to get back to work, he supposed.

“Can I think about it?” Louis asked. He was already halfway out the door.

“Not for too long. We meet them next week.”

The horn blared again.

“One second!” Louis called out. The guy in the car flipped him the bird and Louis wasn’t hesitant to send him one right back.

“What’s the label?”

“CBS,” Harry said.

_ Shit _ , Louis thought. CBS was no joke.

“Move your fucking car!” the guy behind them hollered out his window.

Harry glanced at the angry face in his rear-view mirror, then ignored it completely. Louis looked like he was about to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm to stop him. “Before you go, take this.” He dropped a roll of film into Louis’ open palm.

Louis looked at it curiously, his other hand on the door handle. “What’s this?”

Harry laughed. “Photos I need to get developed. This is a Fotomat, is it not?”

“It is,” Louis said slowly.

“I’ll be back in twenty-four hours,” Harry said, plucking his sunglasses off the dash and sliding them onto his face, “for those photos and for an answer.”

“That’s not much time,” Louis said. He got out and slammed the door behind him, watching Harry through the open window.

“Maybe the pressure will help you come to the right decision,” Harry grinned. As soon as Louis took a step back, Harry sped off without another word. That level of confidence was not something Louis was a fan of. 

As the impatient customer drove up, Louis slumped himself back into his chair, dreading the upcoming interaction. Even worse, he was already feeling that pressure Harry was talking about.

One good thing that Louis had going for him was that he had an apartment all to himself. No one to yell at him for playing guitar at two in the morning or falling asleep on the couch with takeout containers spread out on the coffee table in front of him. He could have friends over whenever he wanted, could leave it as messy as he wanted, which he did often. His place was the one thing in his life he had full control of, even when it was a disaster.

Because it was a disaster, he decided he might as well give it a quick cleaning before he went to bed. He did the dishes, swept the floor, and he even put in a load of laundry down the hall—that he forgot about twice. It felt good to make his place a little tidier. Just not good enough to make it a daily habit.

When he got to organizing his bedroom, that was where he got the most distracted. Years of notebooks were stored in a box under his bed, full of song lyrics and poetry and nonsensical journal entries he probably wrote when he was stoned. A lot of it was hard to look at, but some of it would bring back a rare fond memory of his high school days. Somewhere in the mess that was now scattered around him as he sat on his bedroom floor was the lyrics to the song he thought would make him big but barely paid him back a dime. He didn’t like to think about that memory too much. Just one more failure to prop up on the mantle.

Then he remembered LA.

What started as a fun daydream was now plaguing him. He kept weighing the pros and cons of stepping foot into one of those rehearsals again. When Louis first joined Still Daffodil, everyone seemed great. Even he and Harry were getting along, and that was rare. But he could feel the tension every time he made a suggestion that was pushing them just a bit too far. He was still the new guy, childhood best friend or not. But he didn’t like being pushed around and forced to conform. Not to mention his pride was on the line.

Louis sat back against the foot of his bed, taking a swig of the whiskey he poured for himself. It was disgusting. He thought it looked cool when detectives in suits would drink liquor neat in film noir, but his taste buds didn’t agree. Side A of  _ Tommy  _ by the Who had just come to an end, so he got up to flip it, bringing his cup with him. Once he dropped the needle, he downed the rest of his drink like a shot, then left it on his dresser between the lamp and the record player.

He wasn’t going to LA. That had to be the end of that. Music was a pipe dream he’d spent his life chasing and it got him nowhere. To go to LA, at this point, with a band he had no confidence in, was just selling out. It was time to settle on plan B, whatever that plan was.

With a sigh, he collapsed on his bed, the bounce springing him up. Not once since moving into this apartment had he ever made his bed. He never saw the point. It’s not like he ever shared it with anyone else—at least not regularly.

Taking a risk with Still Daffodil wasn’t going to make his dreams come true. He knew that for sure. Even if anything ever did come from that meeting, it wasn’t like he’d be making the music he wanted. Maybe a band was never for him. Maybe he was meant to stand on a stage alone with a guitar and pour his heart out to a crowd. 

Maybe that could be Plan B.

He rolled onto his side, folding his hands between his cheek and his pillow.

Maybe he should find his way to LA...

There was another side to this. A deceitful, shady, risky side that floated in the back of his mind. His notebook lay open on the bed next to him, turned to the lyrics he wrote last night. He read them over again, playing the chords along in his head. They came to him so naturally, but he didn’t pick up his guitar. Instead, he remembered his demo, sitting in the box under his bed. He’d never met with someone who had any real pull in the industry. A real record exec, at CBS, nonetheless, could do big things for him. By going to this meeting, he could quite literally get his foot in the door.

Was that betrayal? He didn’t owe this band anything. He sure as hell didn’t owe anything to Harry, who kicked him out of the band in order to grow his own ego even more. Music was a shady industry, and he would simply be playing the game he found himself in. Just considering it gave him a gross feeling, but so did the realization that he’d wake up tomorrow morning to go sit in that damn Fotomat again.

Louis had to consider this carefully. If he ditched Still Daffodil to get a meeting of his own, he’d be severing all ties for good. Harry would likely never speak to him again, but that was something he already accepted when he left the church basement last night. Or, he could play along for a little while. Put out an album or two with the band and then ditch altogether. He had always been the one writing the songs, after all. He’d be taking the talent with him.

Louis deserved something good in his life. He worked too hard not to take every opportunity that fell into his lap. Even if a little manipulation was required. As long as he could quiet that angel on his shoulder long enough to get there.

When Louis pulled up to work, Harry was already there, his car sitting next to the drive-thru window. Louis shook his head with a laugh, twirling his keys around his finger right before he unlocked the back door. He knew Harry was watching him, waiting for his presence to be acknowledged.

Louis dropped himself onto his chair and pulled out the change drawer to count his float. The blind was drawn so he couldn’t see Harry’s face, but Louis knew he was sitting there, smug. A magazine rested on his steering wheel, the front cover folded behind the article he was reading, his sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. Aviators were such a cheap way to look cool, Louis thought. Everyone looked good in a pair of aviators.

Knowing his till was right, Louis slid the drawer closed, his hands feeling grimy from the change. Eventually, he rolled up the blind and pulled the window open. Harry was waiting patiently as ever, a grin on his face.

“We don’t open for another ten minutes,” Louis said, sipping slowly on the coffee he brought in his thermos.

“That’s not a very friendly good morning.”

“You know what else isn’t very friendly?”

“Kicking your former best—“

“Kicking your former best friend out of your band, yes.”

Harry sighed, staring out the windshield in front of him. He wasn’t too naive to think Louis would let that go so easily. Ten years of friendship taught him well.

“Are my photos ready yet?” Harry wondered.

“Hasn’t been twenty-four hours,” Louis said, then slammed the window closed. They were, in fact, ready. All the pictures got developed overnight, but telling people to wait twenty-four hours avoided a morning rush. 

“Don’t do this again,” Harry’s muffled voice said through the window pane. Louis glanced at the clock on the counter. Technically, he didn’t have to pay attention to Harry for another ten minutes.

So, Harry waited, and Louis organized the orders for the day by pickup time. Harry’s patience almost frustrated Louis. Part of him wanted that anger from him. Louis was still carrying his resentment unashamedly. He wanted to be begged, just to prove he was wanted. This band needed him, he didn’t need them.

Only, he did need them. Temporarily.

At nine o’clock, Louis decided he had to open. He glanced to his left, thinking his plan over again before he spoke. For now, he had to be all in. Pretend like he was committed to whatever role frontman-Harry was going to force him to play, and then ditch at the first convenient opportunity. It was conniving and manipulative, but his two options were in front of him right now: working every day in this Fotomat, or playing on a stage every night next to a guy he couldn’t stand most of the time.

Lazily, Louis slid open the window, letting it hit the other side with a thud. The sound got Harry’s attention, who tossed his magazine onto the seat next to him.

“That’ll be a dollar,” Louis said, holding the envelope with Harry’s developed photos in his hand. Normally, he would be a little snoopy with the finished product, but Harry was so early that he didn’t get the chance.

Harry lifted one hip, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a bill and handed it to Louis, who was still filling out his receipt.

“It’s quite sunny out,” Harry said, glancing at his surroundings. A bird had just swooped in front of his car, landing on a small tree along the side of the parking lot. Birds chirping on a clear morning were always the sign of a perfect summer day.

“Yep,” Louis said, not too interested in small talk.

“I hear it can get up to a hundred degrees in LA, this time of year.” 

Louis gave him a look, but Harry just sat there, casual as ever. He tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“Make sure to pack some shorts,” Harry added.

Louis glared again, handing over the envelope. “I would compliment your silver tongue, but you always just assume you’ll get your way before you have to fight for it.”

“I don’t always get my way,” Harry defended, though he struggled to come up with a solid example of when he ever had to compromise over something bigger than choosing a restaurant or what movie to go see.

Actually, Harry very distinctly remembered a time in high school when a bunch of them headed to the drive-in, Louis in the backseat with some buddies, Harry driving. The whole way, they bickered over seeing  _ Cold Hand Luke  _ or the new James Bond movie. Half of them were on Louis' side for the comedy, the other in the mood for action, as was Harry. Louis won, of course, through the work of his stubbornness. Harry may have been presumptuous, but Louis was the one with a silver tongue.

“Well, you’re getting your way this time,” Louis said, sounding defeated. He couldn’t let Harry think he was too excited about this decision. He still wanted Harry to try and win him over. If only his pride would let him keep his dignity more so than his ego.

“So you’re coming to the meeting?” Harry’s eyes lit up. It was hard not to smile at someone else’s excitement, even if its cause was a lie you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

Louis nodded passively. “We’ll see how it goes, alright? Who knows, maybe they’ll hate the demo.”

“They’ve already listened to the demo and they love it,” Harry assured him. “They want to talk recording contracts. Nothing big yet, but this is the first step.”

Louis took a slow breath. That was a bigger first step than he was expecting. Maybe he should’ve got more detail about this before he so easily agreed. “Have you booked the flights yet? What day is this meeting, exactly?”

“Well,” Harry cleared his throat, “two flights have been booked, yes. And the meeting is on Tuesday. Think you can get the time off?”

Louis wasn’t too concerned about the extra days off work. He already had weekends off, and his boss owed him so many favours that the other two should’ve been no problem. What did catch Louis off guard, however, was the transportation.

“Why only two tickets?” Louis asked.

Harry looked at him sincerely, his head poking out of his car. Then he took a deep breath. “Look, it’s no secret that we don’t get along. We argue constantly and it’s only gotten worse over the years. Sometimes, man, I’m not even sure if you consider me a friend. If we’re going to make this work, then that has to change.”

Louis eyed him. “What are you suggesting?” 

“A road trip. Colorado to LA, just you and me. I was thinking we could leave tomorrow morning and, you know, stretch it out over two or three days. Give us a chance to bond. Talk things out. Find out why the hell we started rubbing each other the wrong way.”

On a surface level, that was quite possibly the worst idea Louis ever heard. Spending three days stuck in a car with Harry sounded like a nightmare. He could already imagine the arguments, the ridicule, the shameless name-calling. If anything, this trip would make them want to kill each other, not build a career together.

But the look on Harry’s face was so genuine; a half-smile, soft eyes. Louis didn’t have much of a choice. As much as he could, he had to keep up appearances until they made it to LA. If a road trip with Harry was what it took, he would force himself to make it through. 

Plus, plane tickets were  _ expensive _ .

“Fine,” Louis agreed, crossing his arms. “As long as I get to pick the music.”

Harry laughed. “Nice try,” he said as he started up his engine again. “I’ll pick you up from your place this time tomorrow. Cool?”

“I’ll be ready with my eight-tracks,” Louis grinned.

Packing wasn’t the hard part. Louis knew what to bring: most of his summer wardrobe, his notebook, a toothbrush—and his demo. He had to be strategic about where to pack it. Near the bottom of the duffle bag so that Harry couldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of it, but not so close to a side that one wrong drop would smash it. Just to be safe, he decided to fold it into a sweater.

The hardest part turned out to be the waiting. With his bag packed and sitting next to the door, Louis sat alone at his kitchen table. A cup of coffee in front of him, the radio playing in the background. The announcer was letting him know it would be sunny today, followed by some showers coming from the south overnight, before he introduced Hall & Oates. This state could use some rain, Louis thought. A summer this dry made his skin crack like a desert.

To pass some time, Louis flipped through his notebook. Not to write, but to vet out all the bullshit and see what few lines he could salvage. There was one piece he started months ago that somehow made it through several rounds of cuts.

_ Had to ride the river stream _

_ Hate to admit that I am green _

_ But I’ve been searching, searching for that clue _

The rest of the page was blank, not even a squiggle in the margin. Nothing revolutionary or overly poetic stuck out about the lines, but he could feel the potential in it. So he waited, wondering if his nonsense deserved another verse. Maybe one day.

Louis’ apartment didn’t have any kind of doorbell, especially being on the second floor. It did have an intercom, but Harry preferred the “beep beep” method. Honk twice, wait thirty seconds, and if he wasn’t out by then, honk again.

Not wanting to leave out dirty dishes for insects to find, Louis scrambled to scrub clean his mug and the plate from his morning toast. He stuffed his notebook into his duffle bag and then jogged to the bathroom to double-check he had everything. Behind the mirror was where he kept all his essentials. Deodorant. Right. Probably would want that for a three-day car ride.

*Beep beep*

“I’m coming!” Louis yelled even though there was no way for Harry to hear him. 

Flicking off the bathroom light, he ran to the kitchen next. Keys—check, wallet—check, sunglasses—accidentally sat on them when he left them on his car seat last week, but Harry should have an extra pair. Anyone who wore aviators that often had more than one pair. 

“MUSIC!” Louis exclaimed to himself, realizing that he had been promised disc jockey duties for the trip. Well, he promised himself the task. Good thing he remembered yesterday and left the shoebox for himself on the coffee table. Louis tucked it under one arm and slung his bag over the other shoulder. 

Check the lights. Lock the door. Good to go.

Parked out front, Harry had all the windows rolled down, his radio at a dull roar. He didn’t know why, but for a second Louis actually thought Harry would get out of the car and help him with his bag. Wishful thinking. He opened the door and tossed it onto the back seat as he got in, only remembering that he should be a little more delicate after it landed.

“Did my honking wake you?” Harry asked, wrist dangling over the steering wheel.

“Would you prefer I pissed all over your interior?” Louis said. Now that he mentioned it, going to the bathroom before he left probably would’ve been smart. Surely Harry had an empty bottle around here somewhere, if he got desperate. His car wasn’t a disaster, but a quick dusting and a trip to the gas station garbage can would do him some good.

Harry shot him a look. “You piss in my car, you walk to LA.”

“You kick me out of your car, you’re out your most skilled musician.”

“Says who?” Harry had already begun driving away. No sense in delaying the drive to sort out an argument that was inevitable.

“Anyone with a pair of working ears. I’m not bragging. Just a fact,” Louis shrugged. He was, in fact, bragging. The more Harry believed Louis was a necessary part of this band, the stronger pull he had once he was ready to break free. 

“Can you open up that glove box for me?” Harry asked. “There’s a sewing kit in there I need.”

Louis gave him a funny look. “Planning to fix a few buttons on the way there?”

“I just need the needle from it to pop that inflated ego of yours.”

Louis scoffed. “Don’t worry. It can’t get any bigger with yours hogging up all the room.”

Louis was ready for a scowl from Harry, a quick glare in his direction, or a witty comeback just to keep things light. Instead, he got a laugh in return. Unexpected, but not shocking. Their insults tended to come with a layer of humour. 

Harry didn’t have a response, but he did get a look at the shoebox Louis was holding in his lap. “What’s that?” he wondered. “You haven’t brought a hamster along, have you?”

“Oh, it’s much better than a hamster.” Louis lifted the lid gleefully, revealing his entire 8-track collection. “What are you in the mood for? Bowie? Stones? Joni? Dylan? ABBA?”

“How about breakfast?”

Louis pulled out  _ Led Zeppelin IV.  _ “I already ate.”

“Coffee?”

Louis slid the album from its case and hit the eject on the tape player to make sure it was empty before putting a new one in. He didn’t say anything, but not often would he turn down a coffee.

Harry smiled. “Coffee it is, then.” __

7-Eleven was the obvious choice for cheap coffee, and for Harry to top up the gas in his car. He trusted Louis to go in for the drinks, which also gave Louis the chance to use the bathroom before they left for real. Gas station bathrooms were never pretty, but they were better than the side of the road.

Harry took his coffee with one cream and one sugar. Their many nights in the school library at college had the memory of his order ingrained in Louis’ brain. They’d often take turns getting a round for the table from the cafeteria while cramming for the next morning’s final. Louis took two creams and three sugars. Coffee was just bitter hot water without it. Coke was still his preferred caffeine receptacle. 

Figuring they needed a few snacks for the road, Louis walked the aisles and filled his arms. Mike & Ikes were Harry’s favourite, so he made sure to get a box of them. A box of Twinkies wouldn’t go to waste, so he grabbed one of those, as well as some of his own favourites. When Louis got back to the car, a paper bag hugged to his chest and a cup of coffee in each hand, Harry looked over his shoulder curiously from the driver’s seat.

“Mike and Ikes!” he cheered, swiping the box from the top of the bag. Harry was already tearing into it. “I hope you know I’m not sharing these.”

Louis rested the coffees on the dashboard to free his hands. “All yours, man.”

As Louis continued to double-check his purchases, Harry lifted an eyebrow. He reached his hand into the bag, pulling out the metal can. “Easy Cheese?”

Louis revealed the Bugles he also purchased. “Spray a bit of the cheese inside of it. Delicious!” He mimed a chef’s kiss in the air.

Harry turned his nose up. He knew better than to say anything in retaliation. Instead, he gave Louis a tight-lipped smile, put the car into drive, and poured a few Mike & Ikes into his mouth as they left.

At the start of Harry and Louis’ friendship, everything made perfect sense. They were basically the same person. They had the same music taste, loved the same shows on TV, they even got the same bike for Christmas when they were about thirteen. Proper transportation was a necessity for every kid in the early sixties. When it was warm out, Louis always left for school a little early, his satchel full of books bouncing at his side as he peddled the five blocks to Harry’s house. Harry was usually outside waiting for him. They didn’t have a ton of time, so Louis would hand over his record for the day’s trade, Harry would run it to his bedroom, then they would book it to class. After school, it was straight back to Harry’s house.

Sometimes they’d sit in his room, listening to records or trading baseball cards. Their first fight was over baseball cards—what they used to trade before they really got into music—and they almost never spoke to each other again because of it. Louis missed the days when the worst thing they had done to each other was refuse a trade. If it was nice enough outside, they’d play basketball in the driveway, or hang out along the creek behind his back yard. Harry’s house was the go-to because it was just him, his parents, and his big brother, Richie. Louis’ house was too chaotic with all the kids running around, so they steered clear.

Around dinner time, or afterwards, if Harry’s mom invited Louis to stay—he was always welcome, but he didn’t feel right eating with them every day—Louis would head home to do his homework, and Harry would hand over his half of the record trade. Those trades happened until they graduated, even when they were drifting, though less often. By then they had no idea which records actually belonged to who. Harry started writing his name on some of his, but neither of them bothered to check.

When they were about sixteen, Harry traded Louis a record that remained a favourite of both of theirs ever since:  _ Pet Sounds _ . 

“I’ve heard that album a thousand times,” Harry said when Louis held up the tape.

“Me too, and I could listen to it another ten thousand times,” Louis proclaimed. 

For the first hour of the drive, Louis didn’t have the energy to argue so he gave into Harry’s request for radio-only sounds. The quiet was strange since one thing the boys knew about each other was their shared inability to shut up. But now, Harry was ready to take over.

“Do you remember the day we bought that album?” Harry asked.

Louis laughed. “It was the day you got your license. Good thing, because I was sick of driving you around everywhere.”

“But do you remember the fight?”

Of course Louis remembered the fight. It was the first one they had that mattered. This wasn’t about some dumb baseball cards. This was about a  _ girl.  _

“Janis Joplin,” said sixteen-year-old Harry. “I’m going to see fucking  _ Janis Joplin  _ live next weekend.”

“How the hell did you manage to get tickets to a Big Brother show?” Louis asked. Harry was driving them to Burger King in his mom’s car, as sixteen-year-olds often did with their first moments of freedom behind the wheel. They just got back from the record store, and after this, they were headed to Harry’s place to light up in the basement while they listened to The Beach Boys.

“KMAX-FM had a contest for two tickets and I was the tenth caller. Easiest pair of tickets I’ve won so far.” Harry was always entering radio contests. That was how he got most of their records, ever since he was about ten. He’d always been pretty well-spoken, so he was able to mask himself as a teenage girl until his voice eventually changed. It wasn’t luck as much as he just entered every single contest he came across. The odds were forced in his favour.

“So  _ you’re  _ going to drive us to Denver on Saturday?” Louis asked. “It’d be cool to take a little road trip now that we can both drive.”

But when Louis looked over, Harry was gritting his teeth, staring at him with apologetic eyes. “There were only two tickets,” Harry said.

“Yeah, one-two.” Louis pointed between them.

“Come on!” Harry said, and Louis was already shaking his head. “You know I had to invite Niall. He’s fucking in love with Janis Joplin! He’d kill both of us if he knew we went without him.”

Louis couldn’t believe this. Harry had won tickets to six concerts at this point.  _ Six _ . And he hadn’t taken Louis to a single one of them. You know who always got to go? Harry’s new best friend he made in woodshop class. Louis didn’t hate Niall; he hated that Harry would rather be spending every day with him. They hadn’t traded records in almost a month.

Louis didn’t speak.

“Louis?” Harry peered over to him. “Look, I still promise I’ll take you next time. Remember, I  _ did  _ invite you to the Stones. You know I wouldn’t have taken anyone else if it wasn’t for you getting grounded.”

The funny thing was, Louis got grounded for going to a bush party  _ with  _ Harry. He just didn’t think his dad would still be awake when he came home drunk. 

“Drive me home,” Louis said just as Harry pulled into the parking lot.

“We’re about to get burgers,” Harry reminded him.

“I’m not hungry. Go get burgers with Niall.”

Harry shook his head with a laugh as he put the car into park. “Are you serious?” he said.

Louis was serious enough to get out of the car and slam the door shut behind him. He’d actually prefer to walk home so he didn’t have to be in the same vicinity as Harry any longer. He pretended not to hear Harry call out his name. So Harry wouldn’t follow him, Louis took the back trails, far away from the road.

They didn’t talk to each other for nearly a month. It was the longest Louis ever went without speaking to his best friend. When his mom asked about Harry over dinner, he didn’t want to admit anything was wrong, so he came up with whatever excuse he could think of for why he had been coming right home after school, joining his latchkey sister on her walk since he was yet to get himself a car. Too much homework. Harry wasn’t feeling well.  _ He  _ wasn’t feeling well. Anything to get his mom off his back.

But as the next Friday rolled around, Louis heard a knock on his bedroom door. He was hunched over his desk, taking more time to do his homework than he had in his entire schooling career. He expected it to be his mom on the other side, letting him know dinner was ready, but instead, it was Harry, a tight-lipped smile on his face as he closed the door behind him.

“I didn’t say you could come in,” Louis said, turning back to his textbook.

Harry frowned, hesitantly walking towards Louis’ bed so he could sit down. “Can we talk?” he asked.

“Was Niall too busy tonight?”

Harry took a deep breath, not sure how to answer a comment like that. Louis didn’t bother to look up at him and see his reaction. Instead, he pretended to work on his current math equation, even though he was really drawing squiggles in the margins.

“Louis, I’m really sorry about that concert. You’re right, I should’ve invited you. Niall would’ve understood.”

Louis’ eyes looked up, but not at him. “You’ve been hanging out with Niall a lot lately,” he said. Nothing more.

“I wish you would hang out with us more. You’d really like him. He’s into all of the same stuff we are.”

“Is that so?”

Harry paused, an uncomfortable stillness in the room. Their arguments always had the same cycle. Fight, don’t talk for a few days or weeks, ignore each other in the halls and in class, go home and realize you don’t have anyone to listen to the new Kinks album with, then see who gives in first with an apology. But none of their fights had ever felt this deep or this personal.

Under his jacket, Harry was holding a record.  _ Pet Sounds _ . The album they had surely both heard by now, but they never listened to it together. Slowly, he pulled it out and held it in front of him. “Got anything to trade?” Harry asked. 

Louis looked at the album, then wordlessly got up from his chair. Kneeling in front of his record crate, he pulled out the one from the front.  _ The Magical Mystery Tour.  _ He’d been holding onto it for a few weeks.

“Thanks,” Harry smiled as the records swapped hands. 

Louis seemed quite committed to his silence as he sat back down.

“Can we listen to  _ Pet Sounds _ ?” Harry asked.

Louis took in a slow breath but ultimately gave in. At least Harry was trying, and Louis really couldn’t stand the fighting. Although stubborn, he just wanted his best friend back. So he brought the record to his dresser, the top of which held his turntable, and slid the disc out from his sleeve. When he did so, two tickets for the Beach Boys were sitting on top.

Louis spun around, mouth agape. Harry just sat there, grinning from ear to ear. “There was a contest today,” he shrugged. “I guess I had a bit of luck.”

He would never be able to beat that kind of apology.

Harry laughed at the memory, gulping down the rest of his coffee that had gone cold. He hated holding it while he drove, but he was incapable of drinking anything quickly. “You know, I didn’t actually win those tickets,” he said. “I bought them for us.”

“Really?” The admission surprised Louis. “Where did you get the money?”

“I kept a concert fund for a while. Winning all those tickets usually meant I could save longer. It seemed like a good time to finally put it to use.

Louis didn’t know what to say to that. The first concert they went to felt like so long ago, now. He remembered the whole night. How happy he felt. The excitement that lasted weeks before and days after. Dancing with Harry in the crowd. At that point, it was the best night of his life. Even now, it still ranked pretty high.

“I can’t believe I was that jealous of Niall,” he eventually said, steering the conversation to an easier topic. “I mean, we ended up as college roommates, so obviously I didn’t hate him that much.” 

With the distraction of reminiscing, Louis was able to put the album on. If Harry noticed, he didn’t mind. “I’m glad we ended up getting along with him. He introduced us to more people so we could actually have friends besides each other.”

“And then we stopped being friends with each other,” Louis pointed out. There was never a full stop, but eventually, Louis quit going to Harry’s house before and after school altogether. He seemed to miss it more than Harry did.

“We didn’t,” Harry insisted. “Things just changed.”

Did they ever.

Six hours in, they had made their way to Utah. Louis had never been, nor found a reason to ever go to Colorado’s neighbouring state. Harry let Louis drive when they crossed the border, realizing that four hours was about the peak of what he could handle all at once. They stopped at a gas station to top up and stretch their legs. Sitting on the hood, Louis pulled out the bag of Bugles and his spray cheese. He filled a chip for Harry, who almost looked like he would take it, then turned his head in disgust. Goldfish crackers and beef jerky were perfectly fine with him. They also grabbed a couple of cold Cokes and Harry filled that canteen he brought along.

“Are we going on a jungle adventure?” Louis mocked him when he saw it, but he wouldn’t be laughing when they were in the middle nowhere and his throat was as dry as a dead leaf. Harry might’ve made him beg a little bit for a drink.

For supper, they stopped in a small town called Green River. Harry was determined to go a little further on their first day, wanting to get to LA early before their meeting on Tuesday. The band wanted to see a few sights, and he was hoping to meet them at the airport. But right now Harry and Louis needed to eat food that didn’t come from a plastic bag or sprayable can. 

“Two more hours,” Harry had promised. “Then we’ll find a motel.”

Green River only had one diner, which functioned more like a truck stop. That was the crowd they walked in on. Lonely travellers lined along the counter, sipping coffee and nibbling on overcooked eggs or dry meatloaf. Harry picked a corner booth, and Louis slid in across from him. Since they had another two hours they planned on driving today, they both ordered coffee. Neither expected it to be as good, or hot, as it was. Louis absentmindedly stirred the sugar in his as he glanced over the menu.

“Sandwiches are always a safe bet,” Harry said, taking a sip from his mug. “I’ve travelled to play enough bars around the state to know what shoddy diner food will be good.”

“So have I,” Louis said, resting his menu on the table. He settled on the roast beef sandwich and vegetable soup. “What do you think I was doing while you were getting your degree?”

Harry looked at him, confused. “I never got my degree,” he said. “I dropped out the year after you did. I thought you knew that.”

Louis widened his eyes, feeling a sting in the back of his neck. No one let him know that, not even Niall. Although, Niall moved off campus when Louis left, and supposedly fled the state the moment he crossed that stage. He was a business major and got himself on the honour roll, so he was always keeping himself busy. For all Louis knew, Niall and Harry never stayed in touch. He hadn’t thought to ask.

“Why’d you leave?” Louis wondered.

Harry shrugged, circling the rim of his cup with his finger. He didn’t seem too bothered by the question. “I hated it. I was flunking half my classes. The ones I liked just didn’t feel worth it. For three years, I read and analyzed what other people wrote. Then I just stopped caring. Writing music, performing—that’s what I want to be doing.”

Louis nodded slowly. “You’ve got a lot riding on this, then,” he said. 

“It’s my career. Swing enough times, you’re bound to get at least one hit, right?”

Louis tried his best to ignore the twist of guilt in his stomach. He had to remember their history. Why he needed to do this for himself. Still Daffodil may have been shit together, but Harry wasn’t bad on his own. His songwriting was decent and could only get better. If all they needed was a new bassist, they could get a dime a dozen in LA. They were using Louis just as much as he was intending to use them.

He had to keep telling himself that.

The waitress came back to take their order and Harry’s “I’ll get the same” made Louis wonder if he bothered looking at the menu at all. When they hung out often, he’d do that when he didn’t feel like making a decision. Louis was a much more picky eater, so his taste was trustworthy enough.

“You know, I heard your song,” Harry said without looking at him. “That single you put out last year. Why didn’t you keep going with that? It was catchy and had some great lyrics.”

Harry was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? Louis leaned back in his seat. “How’d you hear it? It played on one station for like a week.”

“You’re being modest. It played for a month, at least.”

Louis laughed. He didn’t talk about his single often. The friends he kept close knew better than to ask about it. “One of my friends is a producer at a radio station in Denver. I recorded it in one of their booths, just me and my guitar, and convinced them to stick it in rotation. No label, no distribution deal, just me wanting to get some music out there. And it didn’t stick,” he said with a shrug. He wasn’t sure he’d do anything differently, though. Louis liked the song, and maybe one day he’d write something other people liked too.

“Well,” Harry lifted his mug to his lips again, “looks like you’re getting a second chance.”

Louis had to force a smile in return. Technically, Harry was right, so why did Louis feel so bad about his intentions when he didn’t owe Harry a damn thing?

“What about you?” Louis asked in return. “Between dropping out and when you called me in January, what exactly have you been up to?” During their time in the band, they had never really given themselves a chance to catch up. Making music was the only thing bringing them together. As soon as they unplugged the cords, Louis was getting the hell out of there.

But he wasn’t expecting Harry’s uncomfortable shift in his seat or the way he cleared his throat before he spoke. “Not much different from you, I guess. Played a few gigs on my own. Dated a little bit. Thought I could find the one and realized none of them were. Wrote fifty songs about it. Two of them were good.” Harry shook his head and sighed, then he glanced out the window. The sun was beginning to set as the sky cast over. He watched cars speed down the highway. The look in his eye was a little dazed, but almost amused.

“This time in our lives is such bullshit, isn’t it?” Harry said. “I don’t know anything about anything. I went to college for three years and I feel even more confused than when I graduated high school. When my parents were my age, they were married, had a house, and were raising two kids. By now, we’re supposed to be doing something real. What the hell have I been doing? Dawdling?”

Louis knew exactly how Harry felt. He was able to pay his bills, he lived on his own, but never before had he felt so stuck in his life. Even with potential just days away, with the experience of school, a job, heartache, independence, Louis felt like a little kid on the playground. All these adults were standing around the edges watching him, waiting for him to fall. Then instead of helping him to his feet, they’d call from the bench, “You’re okay, buddy! Just get back up!” He’d rather just stay in the sand and build a few castles to pass the time. Someone was bound to run through it, anyway.

“We’re being forced to live our lives without permission to figure them out,” Louis said. “Time isn’t running out for anything. The plan’s a scam. Job, marriage, house, kids. Who decided that was what life is?”

“Shit, man. I need a few hits before we get into this conversation.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Harry nodded fervently. “Absolutely.”

“Doesn’t help to be self-aware. You feel the pressure all the same.”

They both smiled sadly, lips pressed into thin lines. And they thought they had it rough as teenagers. Hormones all out of whack, desperate to check those boxes of experience. There would always be more boxes added and plenty left unchecked. But who was keeping score? 

Harry was right about the sandwiches being a safe bet. They scarfed them down quickly, paid their separate bills, and headed back to the car. Louis offered to keep driving, but Harry had appointed himself as the primary driver on this trip, so he had no problem getting back behind the wheel. As they were backing out of the parking stall, however, Louis could sense the impending flaw in their plan.

“Take a look at that,” Louis said, watching the dark clouds roll in through the side mirror. It held a sharp contrast to the bright sunset ahead of them.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said. “A passing shower, if anything.”

“Okay Suzy Sunshine, when’d you become a weatherman?”

“On the radio this morning, they said it was supposed to be sunny all day.”

“It’s evening.”

“They said nothing about a storm,” Harry assured.

“We were in Colorado this morning. This is Utah.”

“We’re in the desert.”

“Shockingly, it can rain in the desert.”

“What do you suggest, then? Stay the night in this little town and lose more driving hours?”

“We can drive longer tomorrow.”

Harry shifted the car into gear. “It’s a good thing the car is waterproof.”

“Hold on.” Louis reached a hand behind the seat.

“What are you looking for?”

“Making sure I packed my swim shorts for when we get caught in the flood.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry pressed hard on the gas as he exited the parking lot, just to rattle Louis around a little. Instead, the car jolted forward, quicker than either of them were expecting as Harry turned the sharp corner. Louis tumbled over the backrest, landing upside down on the seat behind them.

“Oh, shit!” Harry said, slamming on the breaks. Louis’ face smashed into the back of the passenger seat, but not hard enough to do any damage.

“What the fuck?!” Louis shouted as he tried to push himself upright. Thank god for cushioning.

Harry’s laughing didn’t dignify the “Sorry!” that followed.

“Are you insane?! What if I crashed through the back window?”

“It wasn’t  _ that  _ fast,” Harry claimed. Louis was already halfway over the seat, anyway. A moderate shove would’ve sent him over the edge.

“I’m staying back here,” Louis decided. He punched Harry’s duffel bag to see how soft it was. Not the most comfortable pillow, but it would do. “I’m sure this storm will sing me right to sleep,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” Harry shrugged. “I could use the quiet.”

Louis settled himself in, closing his eyes and folding his hands across his stomach. “Fuck you,” he said.

“Get bent,” Harry replied. Louis peeked an eye open long enough to see the smile on his face in the rearview mirror.

A loud crack of thunder woke Louis up. It was a startling burst into consciousness. Strong enough to remind him where he was pretty quickly. It was a shame because the car had been like a nice cradle, and Harry didn’t even put on any loud music that would’ve kept him awake. 

He sat up properly, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. According to his watch, he slept for just under an hour. The windows around them made it look like they were driving under a waterfall. The wipers could barely move fast enough. Harry was leaning forward to see, white-knuckling the wheel. It didn’t help that the sun had long set and the country road they were on didn’t have any streetlights. 

They made eye contact in the mirror. “You’re awake,” Harry observed.

Louis laughed. “You’ll never guess what woke me up.”

Harry’s eyes fell back to the road. “Don’t say it.”

“As long as you know I’m thinking it.”

Lazily, Louis stepped one foot into the passenger seat, then tucked himself smaller to hop over. 

“Come on, man. You’re gonna scuff up the interior!” Harry complained.

“Wouldn’t that be a tragedy.”

Louis settled himself with a rough drop. Harry was either holding back how annoyed he really was, or pretending to be annoyed just to have another reason to pick a fight. The rain was pouring harder by the second, thudding on the roof like hail. Harry eased his foot off the gas, coasting the car at about half the posted limit.

“Are you sure you feel comfortable driving in this?” Louis asked, hesitant to start another argument that would only distract Harry even more.

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “We’re getting close to the next town. We’ll stay the night in a motel there.”

“What’s the next town?”

“It’s, uh….” Harry trailed off, looking around him like the answer was in the car. They had a map in the glove compartment, but those typically only work if you know where you are.

“What did the last sign say?” Louis pressed. 

Harry didn’t say anything. Even though they were moving, the wind shook the car with every gust. Visibility on all sides was virtually non-existent, except for when the lightning struck through the sky. Louis did that old trick, counting the seconds to see how far away the bolt hit. For every second was a mile, and he didn’t like when he couldn’t get past one. 

“You’ve gotta pull over,” Louis said. “It’s dangerous to drive in this.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Well, I am!” Louis burst. “I’m not dying as a result of your stubbornness. Pull the fucking car over!”

He wasn’t sure Harry would, the way his jaw bulged when he ground his teeth. But the car slowed even more as Harry veered to the side of the road. The movement stopped, and Harry pushed the gear shift into park. Quietly, he let his head fall back onto the seat.

They couldn’t actually stay here all night. The storm wouldn’t let them sleep and the shaky car would just tighten their nerves. Not to mention passing cars who might not see them stopped. It might not have been the time, but Louis wanted to say “Told you so!” so badly. Two hours was nothing. All they would’ve had to do was wake up a little earlier and start their drive at seven instead of nine. But it was Harry’s car and Harry’s trip to meet Harry’s band. Louis was just expected to go along with it. That was what drove them apart back in high school. He was tired of being treated like some sidekick watching all the love and praise fall into the hero’s lap. 

Maybe now wasn’t the time to be bitter.

In the silence, Harry tried to find a signal on the radio, hoping they could get some clue into when this would pass. They must’ve been too far from town because all that would come through was static. In this mind, Louis was coming up with other plans. He’d like to get some sleep tonight, and that backseat wasn’t ideal in these conditions.

“What do you think that is?” Louis pointed to a light he noticed up ahead, too tall and bright to be a regular street lamp. 

Harry sighed, barely looking. “Dunno.”

“Do you think it could be a farm?”

“Probably. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“And farms usually have a bunch of buildings, right?”

With narrowed eyes, Harry lifted his head. Louis pouted his lips, a mischievous raise of his eyebrows that came with ideas that were terrible, genius, or both. Harry was starting to get Louis’ implication, but he wouldn’t admit it. 

Carefully, they avoided passing the farmhouse when they entered the property, the wheels slowly scraping along the gravel road. Harry kept the headlights off just in case. It made maneuvering the car even harder, but he managed to park it behind the biggest building on the lot. 

“If this barn is full of cows, I’m not sleeping in it,” Harry said when he turned off the engine.

“Get over it, princess. You wanted to bond during a road trip adventure, well, this is your chance!”

“By trespassing?”

“Maybe we can steal some fresh eggs from the chicken coop in the morning.”

Louis was already out the door before Harry could reply, sprinting through the pouring rain with his bag tucked under his coat. Harry was forced to follow, struggling to catch up while keeping his head down. Good thing they thought to bring jackets, but it didn’t help how soaked their pants were getting. He watched Louis get the door open no problem, leaving it unlatched for him. Whoever lived on this farm must’ve relied on the location to dissuade any thieves or squatters. Didn’t work out so well tonight.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry said when he realized what they entered happened to be the heavy machinery shed rather than the home of any animals. 

Louis was already surveying the space, looking for something that could work as a bed. There were four giant vehicle  _ things  _ parked in here. The only word that came to his mind was ‘tractor,’ so that’s what he decided they were all called. It was dark in here, but surprisingly warm. Not comfortable, but tolerable.

Louis hopped onto the wheel of a trailer attached to one of the tractors. It was nearly empty except for two parallel bales of hay and what looked to be a tweed blanket on the ground. Swinging a leg over the side, he dropped his bag and then himself into it.

“This is perfect!” He called to Harry.

“Shh!” Harry said as he ran over. 

Did he think there were fellow squatters in their company? At this time of night and with that storm roaring outside, there was no way the owner was anywhere except inside their house. 

Louis lifted the blanket and shook it out, folded it in half, then rested it back on the ground. It wasn’t exactly a mattress, but it would do.

“This is better than the back seat of the car?” Harry said, looking unimpressed.

It wasn’t, but the solid roof and four walls around them were.

Luckily, Harry brought an actual blanket on the trip. He had a feeling they might end up having to stay the night somewhere that didn’t actually have a bed. Their bags worked well enough as pillows, but only having  _ one  _ blanket wasn’t ideal. They’d shared beds before, having had their fair share of sleepovers as kids. When Harry got a double bed at age fourteen, Louis stopped crashing on the floor in a sleeping bag. It never felt weird when they were kids. Tonight, the weird feeling might’ve had to do with circumstance. They weren’t sharing a bed; they were sharing the floor of a tractor-trailer.

They lay with their backs to each other, the rain now a soft putter on the roof rather than a howl outside the car. This wasn’t the worst set up. The blanket Harry brought was quite soft and warm, and they were able to change into some dry clothes to sleep in. At this point, Louis was pretty sure he could fall asleep just about anywhere. 

“How much of the blanket do you have?” Harry said.

Louis immediately felt like they were back in middle school. “I only have half,” he claimed.

“It feels like you have more than half.”

“You’ve shared a blanket with another person before, right?”

“I don’t believe you.” Harry pulled the blanket harder to his side. It yanked right off Louis’ shoulder, exposing his bare skin to the frigid air.

“Fuck off!” Louis shouted back.

They found themselves in a tug of war for the blanket. Not to get it all to one side, but to make sure their half didn’t get snagged by the other. This was a fight they'd had before, but not one they ever imagined experiencing as grown men. Not until they dozed off did their grips om the fabric loosen. 

In his last conscious thoughts of the day, Louis tried to absorb the series of events that led him here. He wondered why the hell his life felt like it was getting turned on its head every time he let Harry back into it. But it didn’t feel like the impending chaos from the moment he saw Harry’s face on the other side of the drive-thru window. This was more like an hourglass flipped upside down, and Louis was just waiting for the sand to run out again.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis’ second rude awakening was a roaring engine. That wouldn’t have been a problem last time he woke up, but it was when he remembered he was sleeping in the back of a farm machine.

It was a shame because he was right in the middle of a good dream. One of those dreams where you can’t remember what it was about, but the feeling still lingers with you the rest of the day. A mysterious excitement that could only be explained by your forgotten subconscious. For Louis, the feeling would soon be forgotten too, replaced by a sudden panic.

His eyes shot open as the tractor rumbled loudly behind his head. The trailer started shaking around them. Louis turned his head slowly, lifting it just high enough to see the driver door open and slam shut. Somehow, Harry was still fast asleep next to him. He always had been able to sleep through everything.

“Harry, wake up!” Louis whisper-yelled, shaking his shoulder. “I think we need to get out of here.”

Harry groaned, still half asleep. But Louis’ disturbance brought his attention to all the commotion. He turned over, eyes squinted in confusion. “What the f—”

With a jolt, the tractor started moving forward. Louis didn’t even realize the building’s main door had been wide open until the sun hit their eyes. “Stay down!” Louis commanded, throwing the blanket over their heads. “Don’t move.”

“Louis!” Harry said, about to push the blanket off before thinking better of it. “What’s your plan, here?”

“Just stay under the blanket until they park the tractor back in the building.”

“That could take all day, for all we know!”

He was right, but Louis couldn’t say that. They needed a better plan. The tractor was moving slow enough that they could tuck and roll then sprint back to the car. Their cover would definitely be blown, but who cared if they could get off the property fast enough?

Their faces were far too close for comfort, the bumpy drive only making it worse. Louis curled himself in a ball so his human shape wasn’t so obvious under the fabric, and Harry was already turned on his side, facing him. This was not what Harry expected to wake up to. Louis’ morning breath was hot in his face, but he was sure his own wasn’t too pleasant either.

“Close your mouth,” Harry complained, keeping his voice quiet. The tractor was too loud to whisper, but they had to keep their cover.

“Shut up!” Louis said, both in mild offence and because he needed Harry to stop talking for both of their sakes.

Harry didn’t like being told to shut up, especially by Louis. Fueled by his morning grumpiness and the frustration of their current situation, Harry poked his fist into Louis’ stomach. It wasn’t a punch, more like an annoyed tap. In retaliation, Louis purposefully breathed hot hair right into Harry’s face.

“Gross!” Harry exclaimed, clapping his hand over Louis’ mouth. He was being too loud, so Louis threw his hand over Harry’s mouth too. 

Through aggressive mumbling, Louis tried to turn his head to get Harry’s hand away. When Louis reached for it, Harry grabbed his wrist to stop him. That took away both their modes of defence. So instead, Louis tried to kick him away, but Harry was just as quick to pull in his knees and block him. How ridiculous they looked while quite literally wrestling underneath a blanket wasn’t a concern. They may have been in their early twenties, but put them together and their twelve-year-old brains found their way back into their bodies. 

The blanket lost its structure, falling to their chests through all the struggle. It was actually quite the relief as the bright sun and blue sky came into view. Breathing under a blanket was hard enough without someone’s hand covering half of your face. 

But then the tractor abruptly stopped, and so did their childish fighting. With wide eyes, they stilled and dropped their hands.

_ Shitshitshitshit... _

They felt the trailer shift on one side, and Louis didn’t like the look of shock on Harry’s face and his eyes moved upward.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

At this point, there was nothing left for them to do to save themselves. Not until now did Louis realize he had no idea what a stranger could be capable of. Were they holding a shotgun? About to call the police? As long as Harry and Louis could make a break for the car, they’d be out of here before the lights and sirens showed up. But for now, Louis sat up with Harry, turning around to face the consequences.

“Shit, I thought there were some raccoons mating back here or something. Get out of there,” said a young woman, less than thirty, surely. She wore a pale green shirt under her baggy overalls, blond hair tied high behind her head. “You boys in some trouble?”

For some reason, the woman’s expression was soft. Concerned, even, as the boys collected their belongings and hoped over the side, using the tire to step down onto the grass. Harry was really regretting his choice not to wear proper pants to bed.

“We’re really sorry, ma’am,” Louis began, the first to face her. “We were driving through the storm last night and we had to pull over. It didn’t feel safe to sleep in the car. The roads were practically flooding.”

When he hopped down, Harry didn’t realize how slick the grass still was. His foot slid smoothly across the surface, pulling his legs out from under him. He landed flat on his back with a thud, bag flying in the air. Next to him, a turkey gobbled loudly and flapped its wings, startling Harry before he even registered the fall. Louis was too busy apologizing to even notice.

“No need for that ‘ma’am’ business,” the farmer said. “You do know you’re breaking and entering, right? My shed ain’t no home for squatters.”

As Harry got himself up, he realized his back had been enveloped by a muddy grass puddle. It seeped through his shirt, making it stick to his skin. The turkey eyed him like a guard dog sensing an intruder. Harry was sure to keep a safe distance, pretty sure he was the enemy in this bird’s mind. He was too distracted wringing his shirt out to realize his bag was still on the ground, soaking up what water was left.

“We didn’t take or move anything, I swear,” Louis continued. “It was just for the night. We were planning on getting out of here as soon as we woke up.”

“Well…” She took a look at both of them, instantly sensing how unthreatening they were. If anything, the look on her face was one of pity. “Come in for a second and get yourselves cleaned up. We have a guest bathroom you can use to shower. Hang your clothes to dry.”

“Oh!” Louis said, eyebrows shooting up as the woman was already walking toward the farmhouse. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary.”

Harry’s eyes spotted his bag’s poor state. “Shit,” He muttered, swinging it upwards by one strap. A tiny stream of water fell from it as he dangled it in the air. He threw his head back in a groan, the turkey gobbling once again as it trotted off.

The woman looked over her shoulder, pointing to the disaster behind Louis. “Maybe let him decide,” she said.

Louis turned around, looking Harry up and down with one eyebrow raised. Harry was soaked from head to toe, his clothes sagging on his body. Even his hair was wet and matted as he crab-walked away from the puddle. “Dude, what happened to you?” Louis said, a laugh caught in his throat.

Harry glared as he stormed past him. He wasn’t passing up that shower. “This is your fault,” he said, poking Louis in the chest.

“My fault?!” Louis scoffed, jogging a few steps to catch up.

“Sammy and I can cook you guys up some eggs for breakfast,” the farmer continued, not pausing to let Louis solve his confusion. “We have more than we can eat around here.”

The tractor hadn’t gotten too far into the field before Harry and Louis were caught, so it was a short walk to the house. A hospitable farmer was a pleasant surprise. Louis almost felt bad, like they were taking advantage of her even though she was the one who offered. They’d have to thank her profusely before they left.

The farmhouse was quaint. Not huge, but roomy enough for a small family. The surfaces were full of little trinkets, old couches decorated in a paisley pattern. It reminded Louis of his grandmother’s house, but with a modern touch. Harry took off his shoes at the front door without being asked, not wanting to trudge muddy water across their floor. The farmer showed him right to the bathroom and handed him a towel from under the sink. Harry thanked her kindly, and Louis could hear the water turn on as soon as the door was closed.

“Join me in the kitchen,” the woman said. “We’ll get you guys something to eat.”

Louis smiled timidly, following her lead. He didn’t take his shoes off because she hadn’t either, but he was careful to stay away from the rugs.

“Sammy, come greet our guests!” the woman called out through the screen door next to the fridge. Louis could see someone in the flower garden just outside the delicately curtained window, a wide-brimmed hat low on their head. “Have a seat,” she told Louis, pulling out a bright white wooden chair from the table.

“Thank you,” Louis said. He suddenly felt odd about the baggy shirt and stained pants he had slept in and was now wearing in someone else’s house.

“Guess I never had a chance to introduce myself,” the woman said as she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. A frying pan was already sitting on the stovetop. “I’m Debbie.” The screen door opened as she ran her hands under the tap. Both of their heads turned. “And that’s Sammy.”

What Sammy’s large hat was covering was her long red hair braided on either side of her head. Her jeans were tucked into rubber boots, and the pink plaid shirt she had on was tucked into her jeans. She smiled at Louis brightly, creasing her freckled cheeks.

“I’d shake your hand, but there’s too much dirt under these fingernails,” Sammie said. “Leave the water running, will you?” she said to Debbie.

“I’m Louis,” he said. He felt strangely welcomed by her presence. “Harry is the one in the shower.”

“Found us some squatters in the tractor shed,” Debbie explained. “Naturally, I had to invite them for breakfast.”

“Naturally,” Sammy repeated with a laugh. “Will you be wanting toast? The butter is fresh,” she said to Louis.

“That would be lovely, thanks,” he said. Fresh butter? As in, they churned it themselves? What kind of southern daydream did they stumble upon? In Utah, at that. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I think we can handle eggs and toast. Do you drink coffee? I don’t mind putting some on.”

She was already getting the beans out before Louis could reply. While she waited for the pan to heat up, Debbie found a pitcher of orange juice in the fridge and handed it to Sammy, who was getting out mugs and cups for four.

“How do you like your eggs?” Debbie asked.

“Over-easy, please. For both of us.”

Louis didn’t know why he remembered how Harry liked his eggs, of all things. That’s what Harry’s mom always made for breakfast when Louis slept over. Cereal was for weekdays, in their house. Weekend breakfast was a little treat. Man, that felt like a lifetime ago, Louis thought.

“You like orange juice?” Sammy asked, already handing him a glass.

Louis took it happily. “Let me guess, freshly squeezed?”

“I wish!” Sammy laughed. “Although, we do try to be as self-sufficient as we can, out here. We grow all our own vegetables, bake our own bread, take care of our own cattle. Anything we don’t grow, we try to get from the local market in town from other farmers.”

“These big supermarkets are some of the worst corporations you could be supporting right now,” Debbie said as she cracked an egg, letting it sizzle in the pan. “Next to the military, of course. They practically steal all this food from third world countries, and everything else is processed to hell and back. Not to mention these environmental impacts that no one is talking about.” 

Louis thought back to his can of spray cheese in the car, choosing not to mention his snack invention. He completely understood what they were saying, though. Hippie farmers—he could dig it.

Hesitantly, Harry entered the kitchen from his shower. His hair was still wet and so were his clothes, albeit for other reasons. That was why he was wearing a pair of Louis’ corduroys that were slightly too tight around his thighs, but the yellow shirt fit just right. After breakfast, Louis would be in need of a shower, as well.

“Smells wonderful in here,” Harry said, then playfully added, “and was that some anti-government talk I heard? I’d love to take part.”

Both women laughed. “Debs, I love your new friends,” Sammy said, patting her on the shoulder. 

As Debbie served up the eggs and toast onto plates, Sammy pulled out a chair for Harry as well. “Do you like orange juice? Coffee? I’ll get you both.”

“This is Sammy and Debbie, by the way,” Louis said since Harry had missed the introductions. He was now sipping on the fresh coffee, relieved to get a little caffeine into his body. A tractor-trailer wasn’t exactly a five-star hotel.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Harry grinned, taking the seat next to Louis.

During breakfast, they had to have said thank you at least ten times each and apologized for the intrusion ten times more. The boys were genuinely grateful for the farmers’ hospitality, but in Louis’ mind, he was almost hoping they would stumble into some grumpy old man who would yell at them to get off his land. As if it would validate their trespassing because they did it to some asshole, anyway. But these two women had nothing but kindness to give them.

Harry and Louis told them all about their trip and Still Daffodil, leaving out their long history and current state of mildly hating each other’s guts. The atmosphere around the table was so pleasant, they didn’t want to ruin it.

“How long have you two had this farm?” Harry asked, sitting back with his mug in his lap, the plate in front of him now empty.

“Oh, how long ago was it?” Debbie asked Sammy, resting her arm on the back of Sammy’s chair.

“We had the wedding in sixty-three, so… Wow, almost ten years.”

Harry and Louis exchanged a quick glance, sharing confusion. “Wedding?” Harry clarified.

“Oh, well, not a ‘legal’ one, but it was real,” Sammy said. “There were vows and we were surrounded by our friends and family. Ate food and got drunk afterwards.”

Louis laughed. “Sounds like a wedding, to me.”

“It’s like that Joni Mitchell song. Oh, you know the one I like,” Debbie said. She hummed it a bit.

“I do!” Sammy said. “Can’t think of the name, though. Something about the city hall...”

“I know the one,” Harry said, raising a finger. “I like that line. Marriage is about love, not laws.”

“Exactly,” Debbie nodded.

Sammy was looking between them, a strange smile on her face. She didn’t seem to expect such an open response from a couple of guys like them. In the brief quiet that followed, she sat forward in her chair. “So, are you—”

“Oh, we’re not together,” Louis said before she could finish. “Just friends, you know, on a road trip. Seeing a bit of the country.” He laughed awkwardly.

Harry turned to Louis, his head tilted to the side. His eyes glanced from side to side, trying to figure out what exactly was happening right now.

“I was just going to ask if you were still hungry,” Sammy assured him, smiling kindly as she stood to clear their plates.

Louis’ face turned red hot. Harry was hiding a smile behind his fist.

“Right, sorry. I just thought—”

“We’re fine, but thank you,” Harry said, not giving Louis the chance to explain himself. “It was delicious.”

Louis didn’t justify his mistake to himself. Instead, he pushed it to the back of his mind and pretended it never happened. Debbie and Sammy didn’t seem to care, and as for Harry, he could chew him out later for laughing. 

Before they left, Louis took a quick turn in the shower. The hot water was a relief as he scrubbed himself clean with the bar of soap. He tried to use their shampoo sparingly as he washed his hair. The only thing he’d be missing out on was a shave, but he could deal with the scruff until they found a motel tonight. They better find a motel, he thought. He’d pull the steering wheel if it meant keeping Harry from driving them through another storm.

When it was time to leave, Sammy and Debbie walked the boys out to their car. Sammy shook her head when she saw it parked behind the shed, wondering how she had missed when she took the riding lawn mower out that morning. After another round of thank yous and apologies, Harry asked if there was anything they could do before they left.

“Come visit on your way home from LA,” Debbie said. Then she joked, “You can crash another night in the shed. We’ll make you dinner, this time.”

As they drove down the gravel road, Harry behind the wheel, they could see Sammy and Debbie still waving in the mirrors.

“You know,” Sammy said to her wife now that they were alone, “I actually did think they were together.”

“That surprised me too!” Debbie replied, following her into the house. “You should’ve seen the state I found ‘em in.”

Back in the car, Louis was already picking something out for their listening pleasure. He was in the mood for a little Zeppelin, but there was also that new T. Rex album he bought last week. But he couldn’t forget the latest Bowie persona in the form of the Ziggy Stardust record. Too much of Louis’ paychecks had gone to his broad music collection, making the decision tough. It didn’t help that he owned all the record versions of the albums, as well.

“Are lesbians always that nice?” Louis wondered aloud, settling on T. Rex. Cars were the perfect atmosphere for a first listen.

Harry laughed as he looked in either direction, turning onto the empty main road. “Actually, I gotta be honest about something.”

Louis glanced at him, intrigued.

“When we were sitting at the kitchen table, talking about their wedding...”

_ Here we go… _

“I thought that’s what she was going to ask me!” Louis defended. “The conversation was flowing there. All I was doing was clarifying the situation.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him smugly. “Aren’t you the presumptuous one this morning,” he said. “I wasn’t even going to bring that up, but if you want to talk about it…”

Louis leaned his head back with a groan, making Harry once again laugh at his expense.

“Chill out. I’m just messing with you,” Harry said.

Louis was eager to change the subject as he popped the tape into the 8-track player. Harry never installed it properly, so it just sat on top of his dashboard, wires hanging out the side. “Have you heard this yet?”

“T. Rex?” Harry glanced at the cover. “Not yet. They’re great, though.”

For a while, they listened in silence. Through the first two songs, anyway. Louis was grateful for the magazines they picked up during a bathroom break yesterday. He’d rather be distracted by someone else’s words than his own thoughts. That was what happened when you worked alone for too long. He must’ve gone through at least twenty murder mystery paperbacks since he started working at that Fotomat. Suddenly it occurred to him that, soon, he may never have to go back there.

“I really did think they were sisters,” Harry said.

Louis looked up, his elbow pressed against the window and his fist holding up his head. “What?”

“Debbie and Sammy. I walked in that kitchen and I just assumed through the whole meal they were from a strangely close family.”

Louis shook his head, letting out a laugh that turned into a snort when he thought about it again. “How could you not tell?”

“There’s no way  _ you  _ knew!”

“It was obvious! When they were cooking breakfast they gave off this married couple vibe.”

“In what way?” Harry was curious, now. His own parents had a strange dynamic to their relationship. Not quite the loved up pair he had seen from other couples in his life. He didn’t know any married couples without children, so the “vibe” wasn’t on his radar.

“They just knew each other so well.” Louis shut his magazine and tossed it on the dash. “It was like they were predicting each other’s next move. Always smiling. It’s a comfort you don’t see in friendships or  _ sisters _ .” He exaggerated the word purely to mock Harry. “People have a marriage vibe if they seem like they naturally belong together.”

“What brought you to such a profound conclusion?” Harry asked. 

Louis took a moment to think about it. His theory wasn’t one he’d considered before today, but the source was on the tip of his tongue.

“All day at work I’m surrounded by photographs,” Louis said, staring dazedly out the window. “I’m not supposed to look at the developed ones, but I always do. People are their happiest in pictures, almost like they’re putting on a show. You can tell when someone was told to say cheese and when they were caught in a laugh. It’s those candid photos, the ones where a couple is holding hands in the background, watching their daughter open her birthday present. When they're off in their own world, no idea that a camera is even around. Someone capturing the person they love in a silly pose or after they told them a bad joke. Even in the poses, some couples just fall into each other. Those kinds of people stay together for the long run. You see that enough times, you can tell when it isn’t phoney.”

That wasn’t the answer Harry expected from this guy he spent half his life around. The Louis that Harry knew never spoke of love or romance. He liked being on his own and dating sparingly, never intending for anything to last. Sometimes, though, Harry could see a glint of loneliness in Louis’ eyes. Just because someone preferred being alone didn’t mean they never craved a connection more intimate. 

“Have you been seeing anyone?” Harry asked. They had been apart for two years. That was plenty of time for love and heartbreak to run its course.

Louis shook his head, his bottom lip pouted. “Not really. I’ve been busy.” Yeah, the Fotomat was making him real busy, Louis thought. “How about you?”

“No one new,” Harry shrugged. He’d only experienced real heartbreak once in his life. Long enough ago to have been healed. The wound didn’t often reopen itself, but when it did it sure stung deep.

T. Rex was the opposite of heartbreak music. Harry turned it up.

When you’re a kid, you share a lot of firsts with your best friend. First broken bone, first detention, first day of high school, first car. You tell each other in painstaking detail about your first kiss and first date. Rarely did they occur together. At thirteen years old, Harry and Louis shared one of the biggest firsts every teenager looked forward to: first beer.

Louis found it rather easy to snag two bottles from the fridge in the garage. He knew his dad counted them, but he was willing to take the risk just so he could say he did it. One Saturday night, Louis called Harry to say he’d meet him at the creek behind Harry’s house. He stuffed those bottles into his satchel and snuck out the front door while his parents watched the  _ Andy Griffith Show _ , his siblings long asleep. By the time Louis showed up, Harry was already waiting on the front step, having an idea of what was in store.

A short path from Harry’s fence through the enclosed pines, no longer overgrown, took them to the creek. Harry made the path when he was younger, having walked to that peaceful stream almost every day. He and his older brother often played knights in these woods, the family dog being their trusty sidekick as they defeated invisible monsters. Now, just five years later, he was out here to break the rules.

Louis led the way, holding out the flashlight in front of them. A wide log stretched fifteen feet next to the stream, and that’s where they’d often sit, legs crossed and facing each other. Tonight, Louis set up the flashlight so they could see the space around them. He pulled the two bottles from his bag, tossing the empty sack to the ground.

“Ballentine’s,” Harry said, observing the label. “Your dad has good taste.”

“You don’t know anything about beer,” Louis said, pointedly.

“My brother knows about beer. This is the kind he drinks.”

“Richie is fifteen. How does he get beer?” Then Louis thought about it a moment longer. “Could your brother have gotten us beer this whole time?”

Harry was too distracted to answer. He realized these were bottles, not cans. “Did you bring a bottle opener?” he asked.

Louis patted his pockets, then hopped down from the log to take another look in his bag, dusting off the dirt and dead grass. “Shit,” he said. “You still have that Swiss Army Knife your brother gave you?”

“I left it in my room.”

_ That’s a great place for it _ , Louis wanted to say, but he refrained from the sarcasm. It’d be too risky to get a bottle opener from either of their houses. Sneaking out once was hard enough. Twice in one night was just asking to get caught.

Surely they could find something around here to get the cap off a bottle. They were surrounded by rocks and branches and… water. Options weren’t exactly abundant.

“What if we hit it on a tree?” Harry suggested.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “A tree?”

Harry joined him on the ground, holding one of the bottles in his hand. One of the trees had a jagged edge from where a branch had broken off. Gripping it with two hands, Harry lined up the edge of the cap to the strongest looking sliver of wood. Louis took a step back, enabling the likely stupid idea.

Raising his hands, Harry swiped the bottle down as hard as he could against the tree. The cap took a slab of bark off but remained perfectly intact.

“Did you really think that would work?” Louis said.

“You didn’t try to stop me!” Harry argued. “What’s your bright idea?”

Twisting his mouth to the side, Louis made his way toward the stream. A variety of rocks and pebbles surrounded either side, perfect for skipping. The creek was a little creepy at night. The slow rush of water sounded out of place when the source wasn’t clear in the daylight. He picked up a stone, flat on one edge. He figured he could get a pretty good grip on it and asked Harry to pass him the bottle.

“Careful,” Harry warned.

Louis held the bottle tight between his knees, bending low to get a better angle. Harry grabbed the flashlight from the log and shined it on Louis’ hands so he could see. The sharp edge wasn’t quite narrow enough to get under the cap. Louis tapped it a few times, then smashed the rock against it in one go. He took the entire neck off.

“FUCK!” Louis shouted, holding the fizzing bottle at an arm’s length away. It poured over his hand, dripping onto the ground. Harry backed away, doing a terrible job of holding in his laughter.

“You really thought that would work?” he said in a mocking voice.

“Shut up! At least I got it open.”

“We can’t drink that! It’ll be full of glass.”

Harry was right. Thankfully, no shards ended up slicing Louis’ skin, but he didn’t need them slicing up his insides as well.

“You okay?” Harry asked sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Louis sighed, tossing the rest of the bottle away from their path. They still had one more bottle, and now he was determined. “Help me find a thinner rock.”

So they dug, lazily and with great frustration, to find a thinner rock. Harry kept forgetting that he was lighting the way for two people, so Louis’ frustration only grew. Eventually, in the shallow edge of the water, Louis spotted a pointed stone, almost the shape of an arrowhead. “Perfect!” he exclaimed, showing Harry what he’d found.

The cap popped off with ease and the boys whooped in celebration. Then they remembered that it was midnight and Harry’s house was no more than a shout away. With their open beer, they sat back on the sideways log. Since it was Louis’ victory, he took the first sip.

“Oh my god,” he said, almost choking.

“Is it bad?” Harry asked, putting the bottle to his lips. He answered his own question pretty quickly, the liquid burning his throat.

“That is disgusting!” Louis exclaimed.

“Why do people drink this?” 

“Why do people drink enough of this to get  _ drunk _ ?”

Harry was still holding the bottle, looking at it in disgust. Then an idea crossed his mind, and his mouth curved into a smile. “I dare you to chug the whole thing,” he said.

Louis looked at him like he was crazy. “ _ You  _ chug the whole thing.”

Harry held the bottle out, shaking it lightly like it would convince Louis to take it.

“How much will you pay me to do it?” Louis asked.

“Nothing. It’s a dare—you gotta do it.”

“Do not!”

“Fine,” Harry gave in with a groan. “I’ll buy you a burger next time we go to Burger King.”

“I want a Whopper and a shake,” Louis bargained.

“Deal.”

He snatched the bottle from Harry. This stuff was gross, but it wasn’t unbearable. Without thinking twice, he tilted it up and chugged the whole thing. Harry watched in astonishment. As he finished the last drops, Louis tossed it to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He could feel the belch bubbling in his stomach, but for a Whopper and a shake, he had no regrets.

“Are you drunk now?” Harry asked.

He wasn’t, even though Louis would learn later in life that he was definitely a lightweight, so it wouldn’t have taken much more. At the time, though, he was sure he was. Especially when he spent the night at Harry’s and had to use the bathroom four times in one hour. The only thing Louis really learned about himself that night was how small his bladder was. Both of them were already well aware that they didn’t have the brightest ideas. But hey, they were thirteen.

Nine years later and a lot of their ideas still weren’t that wise. Like Harry’s decision to take a side road that he claimed bypassed a large portion of the highway. The map Louis found in the glove box said otherwise. 

“If you turn left at the stop sign up there, we can get back on the highway,” Louis said, trying to be nonchalant as he pushed his sunglasses up his nose.

“Or I could keep going straight and we can get on the highway closer to Nevada.”

“I don’t think we could.”

Harry looked at him, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Are you wearing my sunglasses?”

Louis ignored the comment as he pointed at the map. “I don’t see an intersection here.”

“I’m the one driving. It’s more important that the sun isn’t in  _ my  _ eyes.”

“The road doesn’t connect,” Louis continued.

“It does!” Harry insisted. “I planned this whole drive out the night before we left. Memorized it and everything.”

“Well, you memorized it wrong, then.”

“I think the map is wrong.”

Louis looked at him to make sure his expression was serious. “What do you mean ‘the map is wrong’? It’s a  _ map _ . Being wrong goes against its whole purpose.”

“Maps are made by humans. Humans make mistakes.”

Louis kind of wanted to smack him right now. He’d never met a more stubborn person than Harry in his life. And that was coming from someone notorious for his own stubbornness. The difference was that Louis was able to compromise when a situation became dire, but Harry was determined to not only get his way, but be fully convinced that he was always right. Even when he was about to cost them four hours of driving time just to  _ supposedly  _ save fifteen minutes.

“You are being ridiculous,” Louis stated.

“How am I being ridiculous?! I’m getting us there faster!”

“You’re getting us lost!”

Harry brushed his hair back, trying not to let his frustration get the better of him. “How about you just let me drive? Go take another nap in the back or something.”

Louis shook his head in defeat. But then the feeling hit him. The results of two cups of coffee and about three glasses of—not freshly-squeezed—orange juice combined with a small bladder. One would think Louis learned to use the bathroom before he left, by now.

“Pull over,” Louis said.

“What?” Harry looked between him and the road, his right elbow locked in the way he was steering. “I’m not pulling over.”

“Harry, just pull over for a second,” he repeated, this time in earnest.

“Why?”

“I need to take a piss, okay?” There was a patch of trees up ahead that would be perfect, but Louis would go in the middle of the desert if it meant relief.

“Just all of a sudden? You’re a grown man—hold it until we get to the next gas station.”

Louis glared at him. Was he joking? It would take less than a minute to pull over and let him run into the bush. Harry didn’t even need to turn the car off. No, this was an act of pettiness. Good thing Louis knew how to be petty, too.

Reaching over the backseat, Louis felt around until his hand touched Harry’s bag. It was still slightly damp from his little fall this morning, but he was making due. His clothes were spread out across the seat, still drying. When Louis found what he was looking for, he yanked it out.

“What are you doing with my canteen?” Harry said.

“If you don’t pull over I’m going to pee in this.”

“WHAT?!”

“Pull over or I’m going to take a  _ piss  _ in the bottle you drink out of,” Louis said calmly.

Harry eyed him suspiciously. “No, you won’t.”

Louis raised his eyebrows as he unscrewed the lid. Harry refused to look at him, unconvinced as he shook his head with a pout. If he really didn’t think Louis was serious, he must not have known him as well as he thought. Louis had no problem carrying on. He held the canteen between his knees, then undid the button on his pants.

“If you pull that out I will leave you at the next gas station,” Harry threatened.

“If I go now, I won’t need to get out at the gas station. In fact, I can just dump this out and use it again.” 

He pulled down his zipper.

“Louis, I swear to god!”

“Pull over.”

In a huff, Harry hit the breaks, barely letting the car slow down before he swerved halfway into the shoulder and half into the grassy ditch. It was an abrupt halt, but at least Louis got what he wanted.

“Be fast,” Harry said.

Louis screwed the lid back on the canteen and dropped it to his feet, feeling quite accomplished in his victory. He started to open the door, then paused.

“Give me the car keys,” Louis said.

“Give me my sunglasses.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you don’t get the keys.”

“How am I supposed to trust you won’t drive off without me?”

Louis was quite positive Harry wouldn’t leave him deserted in the middle of nowhere like this. There was still the whole band meeting that he needed him for. Plus, Harry just wasn’t that brand of an asshole. He was an asshole in a way that was so entirely full of himself, but he’d never do anything to purposely hurt or upset anyone else. At least  _ that _ , he could be given credit for.

Wasting time, apparently, had turned into Harry’s weakness. In a final act of surrender, he twisted the keys out of the engine and tossed them to Louis, not daring to look him in the eye and see his glee. Victory was sweet just the same.

Louis was quick in completing his task, not too keen on staying out here longer than he needed to. When he got back, he was surprised to see that Harry had slid over to the passenger seat.

“You’re driving,” Harry said through the open window.

Suspiciously, Louis walked to the other side and got in. The strange behaviour was soon explained when he noticed the map was folded up and tucked into the sun visor above him. Originally, Louis had kept in on his side of the car.

Louis turned left at the next stop sign and Harry said nothing. By Harry’s logic, if Louis was the one driving, he got to keep wearing the sunglasses. Louis decided not to point that out. Until the next gas station, they were fine with not talking. Since he was riding shotgun, Harry picked an album from Louis’ tapes. Until then, Louis didn’t realize that Harry never brought any tapes of his own. George Harrison did a good enough job keeping their ears occupied. 

Funny enough, their next stop ended up being only twenty minutes away, at the intersection between the major highway and the continuing farm road Harry swore was a shortcut. By now, their surroundings had been nothing but empty land sparsed by bushes, mountains lining the skyline in the distance. They were used to the mountains in Colorado, but these red rock cliffs were not the same as their home state’s snowy peaks.

Since their snack stash didn’t need any replenishing and Louis had already fulfilled his bladder needs, he was in charge of filling gas while Harry made a quick trip inside to pay and use the facilities.

“Can you grab me a Coke?” Louis asked, calling to Harry across the parking lot.

Harry turned around, walking a few steps backwards with his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “Don’t count on it,” he said.

With the tank full, Louis got back into the driver’s seat while he awaited Harry’s return. They were nearing their quick dip into Arizona before hitting Nevada on their way to Las Vegas. Neither of them had ever been, so they decided they wanted to stay the night. Not for too much partying, but maybe to walk the Strip and see what all the fuss was about.

If he was driving, Louis thought he might as well take a look at the map so he didn’t have to rely on Harry’s faulty memory. He snatched it out of the visor, but as it slid out, an all-too-familiar envelope dropped into Louis’ lap. The date written on the front, just below the Fotomat logo, was from two days ago. Usually, Louis had a chance to take a quick glance through the photos, but Harry came back so early he never got a chance. This, he supposed, was his chance.

He opened the envelope and took out the small stack by the edges, careful not to touch the actual photos because that was what he’d been conditioned to do. Can’t return develops with smudged fingerprints on them. The first photo, he was surprised to see, was of Zayn: Harry’s college roommate. These photos couldn’t have been recent because he recognized the common room they used to smoke up in during their first year. Zayn had a bass in his hand and, god, this was when they tried to form their first band. They didn’t last longer than a week because no one could decide who would play what. Harry and Louis were the only ones who actually played any instruments. Louis has been taking guitar lessons since he was six and Harry was self-taught from age fourteen. Well, Louis taught him the first four chords, then he took it from there. Niall had originally wanted to play bass because he wrongly thought it would be easy, then changed his mind to drums when he decided it better suited him. The real problem was between Harry and Louis, who couldn’t pick a lead singer between themselves. When Zayn mentioned he’d actually been in choir and didn’t have a bad voice, himself, they gave up altogether. Maybe The Beatles could have a band of all singers, but the ego clash didn’t help them in the end, either.

Louis remembered all of these photos. The basement parties, the anti-war protest Harry helped organize at their college, the time a bunch of them stayed at a ski resort for Harry’s nineteenth birthday, even though all of them were disasters on the slopes. Harry was no photographer, but he loved the idea of capturing memories. Louis wondered why it took him so long to develop these ones.

Louis flipped to the next photo, surprised to see his own face. The picture was from behind, he and Harry sitting on the front step of Harry’s childhood home. The summer after their first year of college, Harry offered him a ride home to save Louis’ parents the trip. During their second semester, they saw less of each other than the first. Only at parties and in the halls around the arts buildings. They took the hour's drive to catch up a little, and only now did Louis see the irony. When they arrived, Harry’s mom invited him to stay for lemonade and the three of them drank it on the front steps. She must’ve taken it without them knowing. Harry was leaning back on his hands and Louis was looking at him mid-laugh. Louis didn’t even know this photo existed. He wondered if Harry did.

He kept flipping. Most photos that Louis was actually in only had him in the background. It seemed Harry’s favourite spot to snap a photo was in their college’s courtyard. Interesting, he thought, that Harry didn’t bring his camera along on this trip. For someone who loved to save memories, taking a trip to LA to talk record deals seemed to be a pretty big one.

But the last photo was what made Louis’ heart sink.

After freshman year of college, Harry got himself an apartment. He shared it with Zayn at first, then decided to live solo when Zayn moved out to travel around Europe the next summer. Louis had a place of his own, but he had that same traveller’s itch and knew his lease was running out.

For Louis, summer was usually dull and full of work. Pumping gas was the kind of job you only wanted in the summer in a state like Colorado. One good thing about having all that extra cash, though, was Louis’ ability to spend as much of it as he wanted on his music collection.

During this particular month, he and Harry were on-again in their friendship. ‘On’ didn’t often mean best friends, but this time felt different. They were close, almost like they had been when they were kids. Sometimes, they’d even hang out just the two of them. Bickering was still inevitable, but no fights. The best part of being on-again, though, was bringing back the record trade.

They couldn’t see each other daily because of how busy their schedules got, so weekly would have to do. This Friday night, Louis brought over three albums he thought Harry would like, and his three of Harry’s from last week. The new ones:  _ Velvet Undergroun _ d,  _ Clouds _ , and  _ Bookends _ . It wasn’t supposed to be a long visit. Just the kind where you have a quick kitchen chat with your hand on the door handle. But then Harry invited him in for a drink.

“I don’t have any beer, though. You like whiskey?”

“Not really,” Louis said. “Unless you have Coke.”

Harry didn’t normally drink Coke, but he left a few cans in the fridge for when his friends paid a visit. Louis usually drank most of them.

Together, they drank more of that whiskey bottle than they had planned. Harry kept his record player in the living room, so they decided to listen to a few of those albums Louis brought over. Sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, they played a few rounds of quarters, laughing about how terrible they were at it. Louis’ quick visit had turned into about three hours, and one drink had turned into about five. Again, Louis was definitely a lightweight.

“What are you doing after you get your degree?” Louis wondered. He was turned sideways, one elbow on the couch cushion and the other on the coffee table. Carole King completed the dim atmosphere, the only sources of light coming from a standing lamp and the single candle Harry lit.

Harry shrugged. “Get my master’s, maybe.” He was spinning a quarter in the table, his legs stretched long underneath it.

“That’s a lot of school.”

“I’m studying literature. That’s what everyone else in my program is doing.”

Louis took a long gulp of his drink. He did hate whiskey, but he had enough Coke. Now they were drinking it neat, the true sign of an impending crisis.

“You ever thought of taking off?” Louis asked.

Harry looked up, not moving his head. “What do you mean?”

“Drop everything, pack up, and leave the state. Hell, leave the country. Pick up a new life somewhere else.”

“I’ve thought about it, yeah. Never seriously. Just daydreams, I guess.”

The quarter had no longer interested Harry. Instead, he reached for his camera just for something to keep his hands occupied.

“Where would you go?” Louis wondered. “Anywhere in the world.”

“Everywhere,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t want to stay in one place.”

“How about New York?” Louis suggested, taking another slow sip.

Harry lifted his camera, peeking his eye through the viewfinder. Louis looked at the lens and let out a soft laugh.

“Am I supposed to pose?”

“Do whatever feels natural,” Harry said, an amused grin.

Louis brought up his glass, peering one eye through it and hoping it looked all goofy and distorted. He had his arm rested on his propped up knee, wrist dangling, and his other eye squeezed closed. Then he bit his tongue between his teeth. He was mirroring Harry, only using his glass instead of a camera.

The camera clicked, then Harry lowered it happily. “That’s going to turn out good.”

Louis lowered his glass, swirling around what liquid was left. “I was serious about New York,” he said.

“What about it?”

“You and me. Let’s take off together. Get an apartment. Find cool jobs at a record store or waiting tables at some fancy restaurant. We save every penny. Live in a tiny studio and sleep on bunk beds if we have to. Then we travel the world.”

Harry turned his head to the side. His eyes were droopy, his hair extra fluffy. 

“Take off, huh?” Harry hummed, pinching his bottom lip. “For how long?”

“However long we want!” Louis said eagerly, excited that Harry was even entertaining the idea.

“What if we end up wanting to kill each other in a month?” Given their track record, that would most likely happen.

“We’ll hang up a curtain. Make a schedule for kitchen and bathroom visits.”

Laughing, Harry shook his head, then let it roll back. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Tell me that doesn’t sound like the perfect idea.” Louis slid closer to him, their shoulders touching as they used the couch as a backrest. “You finish that degree and picture yourself in twenty years. You’ll be, what, a college professor? Talking about the same books written by the same old white guys. You’ll get married, have some kids, buy a house in the suburbs, then you’ll realize you missed your chance to be irresponsible. How can you teach people to appreciate all these great adventure stories if you never lived one?”

“Most people don’t,” Harry said plainly.

“Who wants to live like most people? I wanna do something cool, man. I can’t stand these classrooms.”

Harry watched the way Louis’ excitement faded to sadness. Louis tried not to make it so obvious. His preposition remained, and he was dead serious. If Harry said yes, he’d pack up his stuff right now and take off. He wouldn’t look back.

“New York does sound like an adventure,” Harry said. He turned himself sideways, stretching his arm across the couch behind them. His hand reached past Louis’ shoulders.

“We could give it a week,” Louis quickly said. “Then we have time to prepare, pack, and say bye to our friends...”

“It could be a lot of fun,” Harry agreed.

The thought of making this idea real was causing Louis’ heart to race. He faced Harry properly, the excitement building in his chest. He felt it behind his ears, goosebumps making his hair stand up. “Are we really going to do this?” he said.

“Louis, you’re asking me to run away with you. You realize that?”

Louis looked into his eyes, too close but never uncomfortable. Calmly, sweetly, he said, “I’m not asking anyone else.”

In a split second, Louis didn’t know what came over him. The feeling enveloped him like a wave, springing him forward to meet Harry’s lips, falling into him completely. Louis held Harry’s cheeks in each hand, his ring finger resting along the curve of his jaw. He could feel the way Harry’s body tensed up the moment they touched, but then it softened just the same. The wave hit Louis again. Harry’s arms wrapping around him, holding him. His lips kissing him back. Louis took a sharp breath, his senses in overdrive.

It wasn’t a long kiss. At the time, Louis blamed it on the drink. They kissed because they were too tipsy, but they weren’t drunk enough to go further. When they pulled apart the shock had dulled, making Louis’ mind feel numb. He looked into Harry’s eyes once more, searching for traces of relief, regret—any kind of reaction. Though his expression said nothing, Harry’s arms didn’t let go of him. Louis had to take a breath before speaking.

“Come to New York with me,” Louis said. Quiet, desperate. “Let’s see what happens in a year.”

“Louis…” 

He could see the yes on the tip of Harry’s tongue. The tongue that was somehow between his lips only moments ago. His brain was working like a steam engine to catch up.

“I want you there with me,” Louis told him. He wasn’t just asking for company. No one else would suffice.

“You know how you talked about stories?” Harry said. “Living my own adventure?”

Louis nodded. There was a natural distance between them now.

“I’m gonna find it one day. I’ll live out the whole thing and tell it every chance I get.” Harry looked both sure of his words and pained by them. “But it’s not waiting for me in New York.”

That night, Harry begged Louis to stay.  _ Just finish your last two years _ , he told him.  _ The summer after we graduate we can run away for a year. With the money we save, we can see even more than New York. We’ll see the world _ . But for Louis, the goal was New York. He didn’t just want to travel. He wanted a new life.

Three days later, Louis packed up his car and left to find a new life on his own. The only people he said bye to were his parents. That was the last time he and Harry spoke for almost two years. Not until he got the phone call at the beginning of 1972 did he hear his voice again.

Louis stared at the photograph, feeling the memory of the night heavy in his chest. They never had a chance to talk about it. Often, when he was on his own in that big new city, Louis chose to forget about it. To instead find a distraction or some temporary company. But as it turned out, that big city was just too big, so he came home a year later. And then when Harry called—man—did Louis remember. But they didn’t pick up at that last night. They picked up where they had been in college. The fights, the low tolerance, the sarcasm. Louis never wondered why. He understood where their memory of each other remained. The kiss didn’t change a thing.

He shoved all the photos back into the envelope and snapped it closed in the visor. The last thing he wanted while spending the next two days alone with Harry was a bitter reminder of the most emotionally confusing night of his life. It was the kind of night that wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to happen until it does, and then you want it to happen again, but it doesn’t. And that’s fine because you can move on. But how can you move on from a thought that’s been fading in and out from your mind for ten years?

“Here’s your Coke,” Harry said when he opened the door. “They didn’t have cans, but I brought a bottle opener.”

Louis took the bottles from his hand—Harry got a 7-Up for himself—while Harry dug into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a little brown Swiss Army Knife, the one that he got from his brother, Richie.

“You still carry that around,” Louis observed, having trouble masking his heavy heart in his words. Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“Comes in handy,” he grinned. 

“What’s Richie up to these days?” Louis asked. When they talked about family before, they talked more about their parents. They always saw each other’s mom like their own.

“Just working,” Harry said passively. “Same place.”

Louis handed the bottles back so Harry could open them. Never before had Coke reminded him of that night, but he thought he could taste just a hint of whiskey that couldn’t have been there.

At first, Louis thought driving would be a good distraction. He could just stare at the road, worry about nothing but the passing cars. But there were no passing cars, and the road only headed straight. He envied Harry, who could sit there reading a paperback, the front cover folded over so he could easily hold it in one hand. His mind lost in another world. Louis’ was in different versions of this one. The one where Harry said yes two years ago, and the one where Louis said no two days ago.

He wondered if Harry had looked at the photos already. If he was dealing with the same dug up feelings.

When they reached Nevada, Louis was excited just to get out of this car. Tonight, they’d be able to sleep in actual beds and look at something other than dry land and empty fields. Be around civilization. Don’t get him wrong, Louis loved the scenery, but it doesn’t take long for scenery to become just a background.

One thing that had to be said about Harry’s car was that it was  _ old _ . A blue Buick from the late fifties. It was still his first car and he had no intention of getting a new one any time soon. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was obsessed with tuneups and buffing it once a week, but he loved it as much.

Although, more regular tuneups might’ve been a good idea.

“What is that noise?” Louis said. He swore there was a high-pitched screeching coming from somewhere. He turned down the music to get a better listen.

Harry looked up from his book. “Is that coming from the engine? I’ve never heard it make that sound before.”

“Is that smoke?” Louis pointed to the bottom corner of the hood on Harry’s side. A small white cloud was puffing up from underneath it. He didn’t wait for Harry to answer before he pulled into the shoulder.

“It’s not going to, like, blow up? Is it?” Louis asked as they hastily got out of the car. 

Harry ran to the front, Louis doing the same on the opposite side, and popped open the hood. More smoke burst out from the engine. They were quick to cover their faces with their shirts, not wanting to inhale the toxic fumes.

“It looks like a coolant leak,” Harry said with a muffled voice. “Can you check if it’s coming from the tailpipe too?”

Louis jogged around back, keeping his nose tucked. “Doesn’t look like it,” he said.

“Good, that means it’s not leaking into the engine.” Harry left the hood open, moving out of the way so he could breathe fresh air. “We can’t drive it like this, though, and I have no idea how to actually fix it. It has to go to a mechanic.”

“That sounds expensive,” Louis said.

Harry nodded. “Fuck,” he muttered. “We were so close to the city, too.”

“You think it’s a quick fix? If we get a tow truck to take it to Vegas, maybe we can still get to LA by tomorrow.”

Harry’s head shake turned into a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I hope, but it’ll be a pretty penny.”

There was no sense debating it like this when they lacked any tools to actually fix the problem. Louis had to take it into his own hands. In the distance, he noticed a truck approaching, headed towards the city. Louis stuck out his thumb, hoping for a friendly encounter. The truck began to slow down as it got closer. Harry looked up, shocked that someone had stopped so easily. Harry hated hitchhiking, feeling weird about having to sit in a total stranger’s car, possibly having to make uncomfortable conversation. Louis had no problem with it. Sometimes, you just don’t want to use the gas.

“Where you headed?” the man asked through the window. He looked to be in his late forties.

“Nearest phone. We need to call for a tow,” Louis said.

“There’s a tow yard about five miles ahead. I can take you boys there, if you need.”

The boys exchanged looks, Louis’ gleeful, Harry’s confused.

“That would be great! Thanks, sir,” Louis said.

“Hop in the bed,” he said. “I’m sure you’re no threat, but I don’t let strangers in my cab.”

Louis wiggled his eyebrows at Harry eagerly, turning to climb the wheel into the back of their rescuer’s truck.

“You lucky bastard,” Harry said in disbelief as they settled underneath the back window. “How’d you get someone to stop on the first try?”

“People are willing to help if you aren’t afraid to ask,” Louis said, although he was surprised as well. Not often was it as easy to rely on the kindness of strangers as it seemed to be today.

The last time Louis last rode in the bed of a truck had to have been years ago. Since he was a kid, probably. He enjoyed how freeing it was with the wind blowing around them, like a backwards convertible. The road running away from them rather than welcoming them further. Louis watched Harry’s car disappear in the distance. He had to close his eyes, worried the staring might make him dizzy. 

Harry’s frustration was quite obvious. Car trouble was never fun, and the likely cost only made it worse. He hadn’t said anything yet, but Louis planned to help with the mechanic bill. Harry had been tight for cash ever since their reunion. Louis wanted to make it to LA too, after all.

“You know, this is the second time you driving my car has sent it to the mechanic,” Harry said.

Louis looked at him, unprepared for the accusation until he realized that Harry was smiling. He knew exactly what Harry was talking about. It was one of their worst arguments, but just like the rest, it wasn’t about anything too important. At least they could both laugh about it now.

“To be fair, it wasn’t my fault this time,” Louis said.

“Yes, but the last one  _ definitely  _ was.” 

The year 1969 found Harry and Louis starting their second semester of college, still in dorms before they would split off next year. At the time, Harry was the only person in their group of friends who bothered to bring his car from home to school. As a result, his car became a hot commodity. It wasn’t that bad to loan it out, he discovered, when his friends had promised to bring it back with a full tank. Sometimes he’d go months without having to buy any gas for himself. There was one unsurprising friend, however, who almost never returned the favour.

“You cannot  _ steal  _ Harry’s car,” Zayn said when Louis came bursting into the dorm, not waiting for an answer after he knocked. He knew Harry was in his Ethics class on Friday afternoons, but he wasn’t expecting Zayn’s presence.

“I’m not stealing it. I’m borrowing it for an hour. He won’t even know it’s gone.”

Louis was currently banned from borrowing Harry’s car after returning it with an empty tank last weekend. He assumed that picking up a six-pack for Harry made the exchange of favours equal, but Harry didn’t see it that way. Especially when Louis drank four of them that weekend.

“He’s still pissed at you, you know,” Zayn told him, sitting at his desk with a textbook open in front of him. He was looking at his lamp-lit pages rather than at Louis.

Louis yanked open the top drawer of Harry’s desk, knowing that was where he kept his keys. “He’s always pissed at me.”

Zayn shook his head passively. “You two really know how to push each other's buttons.”

“Years of experience, my friend.” Louis spun the keys around his finger and caught them in his palm, then headed back out the door.

The task really shouldn’t have taken too long. He just had to make a quick trip across town to pick something up from an acquaintance's house. An acquaintance that typically made deliveries but didn’t have a car of his own to get there at the moment. And it was the start of the weekend, so this was something he  _ really  _ needed to pick up.

What Louis wasn’t expecting when he zoomed up in front of the house was how close the garbage can was to the curb, or how easy it could tumble to the ground, scraping the passenger door as it fell. Louis didn’t need to see it to know the kind of damage that sound made. 

“Goddamnit,” he groaned to himself, hitting his forehead against the steering wheel.

Later that night, he found Harry, Niall, and Zayn in the common room, sitting around the TV watching  _ The Brady Bunch.  _ Louis approached them cautiously, knowing there was no easy way to do this. No matter what, Harry was going to be  _ pissed _ . 

Without a word, Louis tossed the keys into Harry’s lap. Startled, he looked up, his eyes landing on the entryway. 

“What did you do?” Harry said sternly.

Niall and Zayn glanced his way as well, Zayn shaking his head in disappointment.

Louis tossed a paper bag in Harry’s lap, next. Harry picked it up, taking a look inside. “I got you weed,” Louis said.

“Bullshit.” Harry tossed the bag back. “Why did you have my car keys?”

“Okay, Harry, listen. You can’t get mad. I didn’t think—”

Before Louis could say anything else, Harry got up and stormed past him, headed straight for the parking lot. Louis jogged to catch up, hearing Niall and Zayn behind him. The four of them ran outside, Louis prepared to get his head metaphorically ripped off. 

“LOUIS!” Harry shouted, making Louis flinch.

Upon witnessing the damage, a wide scrape just below the door handle, Niall placed a sympathetic hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Nothing comes between a man and his weed, huh?” he said.

The Harry of 1972 was laughing, finally, at the memory. At the time, Louis didn’t know why he did it. He really wasn’t that desperate for the weed even though his stash had run empty. But he did remember when he first decided to grab those keys, not expecting any consequences for his actions. Harry would be mad, sure, but he wouldn’t be mad forever. Just like every other argument, he’d get over it.

“At least I paid you back!” Louis said. “They did a pretty good job fixing it up.”

“It took you like two months to get the money.”

Louis scoffed. “I was a student and barely working. Can you blame me?”

By the glint in his eye, Louis could tell Harry wasn’t the least bit mad anymore. Somehow, the memory had almost become pleasant. Maybe because it was a story that was just theirs.

“You know,” Louis began slowly, considering his words before he gave into saying them, “I don’t think I ever apologized for that. As in, saying the actual words. So I just want you to know that I am sorry I took your car without asking.”

Harry rolled his head to face him. “And scratched it.”

Louis nodded with a laugh. “And scratched it,” he repeated. 

Gently, Harry raised a hand to pat Louis’ knee. It was a kind gesture. One of reassurance, even. “I know you’re sorry,” he said. “We would never have made it this far if we didn’t care enough to feel sorry for all the stupid shit we’ve done to each other.”

Louis smiled at him, feeling strangely warm over Harry’s words. They were true. Harry was the only person Louis had ever been close enough to trust he would never lose him, no matter how much they fought. At that moment, Louis realized that during ten years of friendship and fights, they had never done anything to genuinely hurt the other. They knew not to take it that far.

Harry left his hand on Louis’ knee. Louis didn’t mind it there.

The man pulled up to a convenience store on the outskirts of the city. He stopped in the parking lot, the engine rumbling as it idled. Harry and Louis stood up as the man got out of the cab.

“This is it?” Harry asked, quite aware that a convenience store and a tow yard were not the same thing.

“Just around back, there,” he said. “You boys are good from here?”

“I think so,” Louis said. “Thank you, again. We really appreciate it.”

“No worries at all.” He reached a hand out to shake Louis’. “Enjoy the Strip while you’re in town! Look at that, you can see the buildings from here.”

He pointed in the distance and Louis and Harry turned to look. They couldn’t really see anything, but they nodded anyway. “We plan on it,” Harry said.

“Good luck, boys,” he said, then took off with a wave. 

Before they went searching for the tow yard, Harry wanted to take a look through the yellow pages at the payphone for a mechanic close by. Louis took the opportunity to browse the store, finding interest in the rack of souvenir keychains next to the cash register.

“You guys on a hitchhiking trip?” wondered the boy behind the counter.

Louis looked up as he spun the rack. “Oh, not really,” he said. “We’re driving to LA but we had a little car trouble.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“My friend thinks it’s the water pump because of the smoke, but he doesn’t know enough to change it. He’s calling a mechanic right now so we can get it towed into the city.”

“What’s in LA?” the boy prodded.

Louis didn’t mind sharing. It wasn’t like he’d ever see this guy again. “Our band has a meeting with a label. We’re nobodies, don’t get me wrong, but we’re trying to be somebodies.”

The boy smiled, seeming amused by his comment. “You know, I’ve got a tow hitch and a garage at my place. If you can buy the pump, I can change it. It’s an easy fix.”

“Really?!” Louis said. “I mean, that’d be great, but…” He was starting to get suspicious of all the kind people they were coming across. No one got this many favours just handed to them.

“You’ve gotta be careful dealing with mechanics. You’ll be selling a kidney for a new tire,” the boy told him. He leaned over the counter casually, the weight of his name tag pulling his baggy shirt forward. It read ‘Liam.’

“What’s the catch?” Louis asked. There was no way this kind of gesture was without purpose.

“You said you’re headed to LA, huh? To talk to record execs? Well, I’m a musician, and I have these songs...”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “You want us to give your demo to the label?” To be fair, offering an unsolicited demo was also part of Louis’ plan. But he realized, quite quickly, that just because he said yes didn’t mean he’d actually have to do it.

Before they could make a deal, Harry returned, looking as pleased as he could be with how annoyed he actually was. “I found a mechanic nearby that I think will work fast. Do you have some change so I can give him a call? I left my wallet in the car.”

“No need!” Louis proclaimed. “Our new friend, Liam, offered to help us out.”

Harry looked between the two, dumbfounded. Louis chose to let him believe this was also the work of his charm and charisma rather than the results of a deal. He wouldn’t be too fond of taking advantage of the people who were already taking a chance on Still Daffodil. Just like he wouldn’t be fond of Louis passing along his own solo demo. Then again, that was something he was starting to reconsider.

“I’m off in an hour, then we can go pick up your car.” Liam smiled. Harry looked at him, expressionless, then to Louis before he shook his head and walked away.

“He’s thrilled you’re helping us,” Louis said to Liam over his shoulder as he followed Harry. “We’ll just wait for you outside.”

As soon as they got to Harry’s car, Louis guided Liam so he was close enough to the front of the hitch. Towing the car was the easy part, and Liam lived fairly close to where they had been stranded. But once they were ready to go, Harry approached Louis with worry on his face.

“My wallet isn’t in the car,” he said.

“Why isn’t it in your pocket?” Louis asked.

“I’ve been wearing your pants all day. They’re a little snug, so there wasn’t much room.”

“You didn’t think to take it with you? What if we needed to pay upfront?”

“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t thinking. You had your wallet, though. I could’ve spotted you.”

“My wallet has about—” Louis reached into his back pocket to show Harry his thin display of cash, but the pocket was flat. He checked his front pockets, but they were empty too.

Scrambling now, Louis opened the door and pushed the seat forward to look in his bag. His clothes were there, and his demo, thankfully, but there was no sign of his box of tapes. He checked in the front seat, too, but the floor was empty. So was the top of the dashboard.

“Harry, they took your eight-track player.”

“What?!”

Liam got out of his car, strolling over to them in concern. “Everything alright?”

“Someone looted the car while we were gone,” Louis explained. “They took Harry’s wallet and all my tapes.”

“Where’s  _ your  _ wallet, then?” Harry said.

Louis racked his brain, trying to remember the last place he had it. He knew it had to be since they left the car because he had a habit of patting for it every time he stepped out. Then he remembered the handshake.

“I knew that guy was too nice,” Louis shook his head. “That guy that made us sit in the bed of the truck. He took my fucking wallet!”

“I mean, it could’ve fallen out,” Harry reasoned.

“Actually, Louis’ probably right,” Liam said. “There are a lot of con artists around here. Looting broken down cars is an old trick. Nice guy gives you a lift to a phone, his buddies swoop in to take everything you left behind.”

“Fuck,” Louis shook his head. When did he become so naive? 

Harry was rummaging through every compartment in the front. “Shit, did they take my sunglasses?”

“That was all the cash I had!” Louis groaned.

“I have ten bucks in my glove box, but I don’t think that’s gonna buy us a water pump. Or a room for the night.” Rather than angry, Harry looked defeated. He slumped back against his car, looking at the ground as he crossed his ankles.

“Listen, you guys can stay at my place for tonight. We have an extra room,” Liam told them.

Louis began to interrupt. “That’s too much—”

“As for the money,” Liam smiled, his hands on his hips, “I think I have an idea for how you can make some extra cash.”

Harry crossed his arms suspiciously. “And what’s that?” he asked.

Liam looked between them. “Did you guys bring along your guitars?”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and Louis’ visit with Sammy and Debbie yesterday left them a few hours behind schedule, so by the time they got the car towed to Liam’s it was around eight o’clock. They were tired, hungry, and all the stores were closed for the night. Liam was able to diagnose the smoke issue, at least: Harry was right about the water pump. The only problem was that they needed money to actually buy that pump. That was where Liam’s idea came in.

According to Liam, if you were good, busking could be a part-time job in Las Vegas. Residents brought out their talents—whether it be music, magic, art, dance, or any other odd skill that people may want to see—and set themselves up on Fremont Street. Liam claimed he once made nearly a hundred bucks spending a whole day out there, but Louis found that hard to believe. Thirty or so was all they really needed to make it the next couple of days. Once they got to LA they’d be alright. One of the other members of Still Daffodil had a credit card and already agreed to a loan over the phone. Louis really had to think about getting a card for himself one of these days.

But that didn’t change how pissed he and Harry were about losing their money. Louis had brought along a week’s paycheck with him. Harry didn’t have a lot, to begin with, so he really needed what he had. They tried not to let it stress them out too much. The money could be replaced, Louis had to remind himself. So could the tapes. They still had the car and they were still going to make it to LA. He couldn’t let this ruin the trip. Not when he was finally starting to enjoy himself.

“I hope you guys don’t mind, but we only have one guest room,” Liam said as he led them down the hallway in his house, a small single story in a quiet neighbourhood. His roommate was out of town for the weekend, he explained, but he didn’t feel right lending out his room. “Our friends usually crash here when they need to.”

Louis would sleep in a crib if it meant having a solid mattress. Although, a bigger bed would be preferred. He could deal with sleeping in the same bed as Harry one time. Once you share a tractor-trailer with someone for the night, you can share anything.

But Liam opened the door to a room neither of them had expected.

“Bunk beds?” Harry said.

“Like I said, it’s for our friends when they stay the night. There’s an air mattress somewhere around here, too. The whole room can fit like four people, easily.”

“I dibs the bottom,” Louis said, tossing his bag on the ground as he flopped onto the fully made bed.

“Why should you get the bottom? I’m taller, I need more space,” Harry claimed.

“By like three inches,” Louis countered.

“Yeah. Still taller.”

“While you guys figure this out, I’m gonna smoke a joint in front of the TV and then head to bed,” Liam told them. “Let me know if you need anything else. Bathroom is down the hall. There should be clean towels.”

Louis’ ears pricked up at the first thing Liam said. He didn’t think to bring his stash with him and regretted that the moment he got into Harry’s car. “Will you be willing to share?” he wondered.

Harry turned his head to Liam, his own interest piqued as well.

“Alright,” Liam sighed. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

After passing around a joint or two, the boys decided to order Chinese takeaway, realizing they still hadn’t eaten. They sat around the TV, digging into the containers with their forks until their eyes got droopy. Harry and Louis decided to head to bed around the same time, both opting for morning showers since they were too tired to even think of doing anything else tonight. Louis did end up getting the bottom bunk, but it took some bickering to get there. Eventually, Harry was just too tired to disagree. 

Harry passed out right away. That’s what Louis assumed, anyway, based on the sound coming from above him. Harry had always been a borderline snorer. It didn’t wake you up, but every breath was a heavy, airy rhythm. Louis had more trouble. The day was weighing on him, and all the memories from those photos had been clouding his mind. Harry had always made him feel this way. Anxious, nervous. Annoyed, frustrated. Excited, elated. His heart could never settle in one spot.

So he pulled out his notebook. There was a small lamp on the night table behind him. He angled it so it only pointed at his bed, not to disturb Harry above him. Just like every other night when he struggled to keep his thoughts in, Louis wrote them down.

He turned to that verse that he had started months ago. The one that felt right but he never found the next piece of the puzzle. Now, he thought he might have something to say.

_ From lessons learned and broken smiles _

_ I followed you across every mile _

_ Ten years lost when I broke down and withdrew _

It was too obvious, too true, but he owed it to himself after years of lying to his inner thoughts. He needed to get the feelings out. And if he had to scratch it out the next morning, tear out the page, crumple it into a ball, and set it on fire, he would. But first, he needed to write his story. He intended it to be a song, but it came out more like a poem. No chorus to come back to, but he could hear the tune in his head across eight stanzas. He didn’t look it over again. Instead, he closed his book, tossed it into his bag, and forced himself to fall asleep. With an emptied mind, eventually, he did.

The next morning, when Louis woke up, Harry and Liam were already in the kitchen, hunched over bowls of cereal. Louis poured one for himself, even though he wasn’t a big fan of corn flakes. He needed his energy, though because today Liam was going to teach them how to busk.

Harry and Louis didn’t think to bring their guitars with them and were thankful for that decision after yesterday’s events. Luckily, Liam didn’t mind loaning out two of his guitars for the day, and he was happy to drop the boys off at Fremont Street himself. He had to go to work and get that pump fixed, but that gave Harry and Louis plenty of time to rack up some change.

In the day time, Vegas wasn’t the flashing lights and constant party that Louis was expecting, but it was still lively. Tourists roamed the steers, neon lights colouring the sky. The sidewalks were loud and cluttered, reminding Louis of his short time in New York. This city didn’t have the same rows and rows of tall buildings or constant muggy weather, but tourists were aplenty there, too. Louis always felt like a tourist in New York. He was never able to call it home.

“It’s busy,” Harry observed as they set up their cases and tuned their guitars. They found a street corner with a few concrete planters next to it, where Harry’s legs were currently dangling from. Liam had already left them to fend for themselves, but Harry was too confident to be worried.

“That’s good news for us,” Louis said. He pulled the strap over his head to make sure it was adjusted right, then strummed the rapid guitar pattern from “Pinball Wizard” to feel it out. Playing a new guitar for the first time always had that new-bike feel. It took some getting used to.

“Hey, keep that going,” Harry said, watching Louis’ hand carefully. He stood up properly, bringing his guitar with him.

One by one, Harry strummed the opening chords of the song, his hand moving up the neck. Quieter, Louis continued the same part, trying to read Harry’s energy, figuring out how much they were going to put into their first song. Before Harry could take over altogether, Louis caught the first lyric.

_ “Ever since I was a young boy _

_ I've played the silver ball _

_ From Soho down to Brighton _

_ I must have played them all…” _

He made it through the whole first verse, then Harry joined into the intense pattern as it broke down. They eyed each other, their hands in a friendly competition. Harry took the second verse all the way to the next chorus.

_“_...  _ sure plays a mean pinball.” _

This song knew them well. So did the summer of 1969. 

Harry wanted to go to The Stones in the Park, but he was crazy to think he could afford a plane ticket all the way to London at the time. He and all of his friends had jobs, lives to keep up with. But this concert would make history! In fifty years, everyone would be talking about the time The Rolling Stones played to nearly five-hundred thousand people. Surely nothing could outdo an event like that in the summer of 1969, especially not just a month later... So, to fill his melancholy over missing possibly the greatest music event in history, Harry decided to throw a party. Specifically, a party with the perfect music. There was only one person to recruit for the job.

“I need you to bring over all your best albums,” he said over the phone, surveying his cupboard for snacks. Did he still have those Cheetos? Maybe he should pick up some more soda…

“Who is this?” said the voice on the other line.

“All these years and you can’t recognize my voice?”

Louis laughed. “Well, I haven’t heard it in almost three months. How’ve you been, man?”

As much as he wanted to catch up, Harry didn’t have too much time for the casualties. Louis had today off, so he said he’d be right over. And boy, did he have some good albums. Even though half of his records likely had Harry’s name on them, he figured he still ended up with the better half of their combined collection.

Louis showed up with a bag full of albums and a smile on his face. It always felt a little strange to see Harry again after all their unexpected breaks. He didn’t even remember what caused their last period without talking. Rarely, did he ever. When Harry opened the door, he greeted Louis with a hug. His hair had gotten longer, Louis noticed, and his clothes had gotten baggier. Of all their friends, Louis used to think he was the biggest hippie, but lately, Harry had been fully embracing the counterculture.

“You have got to play this at the party,” Louis said, laying out the records on the kitchen counter. Harry had already made a quick trip to the store, so Louis cracked open one of the Cokes he was yet to put in the fridge.

“Those are for tonight,” Harry said.

Naturally, Louis ignored him. Like always, nothing had changed. “ _ Tommy _ by The Who,” Louis said, spinning the album right-side-up so Harry could see. “I’m telling ya, this will be the best album of the year.”

“And why is that?”

Louis scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’ll tell you why, and it’s thanks to two men: Pete Townshend and the Pinball Wizard.”

Harry knew, of course, that this was a fantastic album. It had been in his usual rotation since spring. He just loved to see the way Louis freaked out over music, getting a little too passionate about the one true love of his life. Louis was practically an encyclopedia of rock. He could give you a deep dive on any band or artist from the last two decades, and often would, unprompted.

That night, Harry and Louis both got _drunk._ A lot of their freshman year had been spent in that state. It got old pretty quick, but they were quite enjoying this summer.

At some point in the night, while they and their friends were busy annoying Harry’s neighbours and waiting for that stomp on the ceiling to turn it down, Harry found Louis at the bedroom window with the other burnouts, blowing courtesy smoke out the screen.

“You need to put on  _ Tommy _ _,”_ Harry said. “We need to liven this place up!”

The place was already pretty lively, Louis thought, but Harry was slurring his words and had this goofy smile on his face. If he wanted to listen to  _ Tommy _ , then  _ Tommy  _ he would get.

It wasn’t really an album you played all the way through at a party. A two-disc rock opera didn’t exactly liven up a crowd that just wanted to drink, get stoned, and barely hear their conversations over the music. Louis knew Harry had one song in particular in mind, though, so he placed side three face-up and tried to line the needle up with the third track.

Harry was the most excited in the room when the guitar chords began. He wanted the whole apartment on their feet, but he wasn’t getting quite the reaction he expected from them. Good thing he had his old pal Louis who wasn’t going to let his excitement go to waste. Harry grabbed an empty beer bottle off the coffee table, figuring it made a good enough microphone.

_ “Ever since I was a young boy, I've played the silver ball _ , _”_ Harry sang into his bottle, loud enough to gain the attention of the party. Though, the only person whose attention he was interested in was Louis’.

That was no problem. Louis got an empty bottle of his own, eyes bright and glossy. _“_ _ From Soho down to Brighton, I must have played them all _ . _”_

Harry hopped onto the couch, forcing everyone who was sitting on it to find somewhere else to hang out. _“_ _ But I ain't seen nothing like him, In any amusement hall. ” _

Louis jumped up with him, struggling to find his balance on the overly soft cushion. _“_ _ That deaf, dumb, and blind kid… ” _

And together, loud and full of energy, _“_ _ Sure plays a mean pinball! ” _

They sang the guitar part, miming along in the air. Throughout the song, they kept the energy high, taking turns and skipping around the room, getting right in the face of guests and urging them to join the fun. Not everyone had the same enthusiasm, but Harry and Louis didn’t care. They were putting on a performance of their own, and they were having a fucking  _ blast.  _

Until the knock on the door.

Harry and Louis froze. The whole party froze. People had been coming and going, sure, but this knock was loud and abrupt. Whoever was closest to the record player must’ve turned it off because the room fell silent. Then the knocking came again.

“I’ll handle this,” Harry said confidently, and drunkenly, as he hopped down from the couch.

“No, you will not,” Louis countered, but just taking the step down to the carpet made him a little dizzy. Maybe Harry  _ was  _ better suited to answer the door.

“Everyone, get down the hall. Squeeze into rooms. Whatever you need to do to not be seen,” Niall whisper-yelled, guiding the guests away from the living room and kitchen. The general consensus was that waiting on the other side of the door was most definitely the cops.

Louis followed Harry to the door anyway, feeling a shared responsibility for whatever trouble they were about to get into.

Harry put his hand on the doorknob, then turned to Louis whose head was just over his shoulder. “Do I smell like weed?” he asked.

“Harry, your whole apartment smells like weed.”

“Shit,” Harry muttered.

Louis’ heart was thudding. He had the back of Harry’s shirt bunched into his fist and the other arm across his collar bones like he was using him as a shield. With their heads both tilted, Harry opened the door cautiously, not wanting to give a welcome view of the disaster zone his apartment had turned into.

But on the other side of the door was Zayn, who had just returned from a late shift at work. “Forgot my key…” he said slowly.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry said, letting out a sigh. Although, this wasn’t a great sign either. Zayn wasn’t the cops, but he  _ was  _ the equivalent of your parents coming home a day early from their weekend anniversary getaway.

“Do I want to know what’s happening in our apartment right now?” Zayn said.

“Uh,” Harry looked to the ceiling, hands on his hips as he trilled his lips and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

When he noticed Louis standing behind Harry, Zayn laughed. “This makes much more sense. Every time you two decide to be friends again, you insist on causing chaos.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Hesitatingly, Louis took the joint that was tucked behind his ear and held it over Harry’s shoulder in offering. They both looked at Zayn with those puppy dog eyes that absolutely would not work if he really was an angry mother.

“Fine,” Zayn sighed, snatching the joint from his hand and placing it between his lips. “But I’m not sharing this.”

He followed them back into the apartment, ignoring the mess as Louis called everyone else in. The music was cranked up, and the party shifted back into full-swing. The rest of the night got a little hazy after that, but Louis was happy to hold onto that silly little memory. It was the best reunion he could remember having with Harry. He almost wished he had a photo of that night, but he liked his mind’s version better.

When they finished the song on the Vegas streets, Harry and Louis were met with a mild round of applause. A few people stopped to listen and offer their praise in claps. Some had offered it in coins, but they had less than a dollar in the case for sure. It didn’t matter, though. This was a song for them. The songs that could actually make them money, however, they still needed to debate over.

“I don’t think we should do originals,” Harry said, twirling his pick between his fingers. “More people will stop to listen to songs they already know.”

The sun was becoming blistering in the early afternoon. Louis wasn’t sure he’d ever been in a climate this hot. “But wouldn’t you be more curious to listen to a song you’ve never heard?” he said.

Louis thought back to his notebook and how many songs he’d actually let see the light of day. He hadn’t been brave enough to bring any of his own songs to Still Daffodil just yet, but he knew their songs well. 

In his guitar case, Harry found a mini notebook and pen that Liam must’ve used for his own performances. He bit the cap off the pen and turned to a blank page, resting the book on the side of his guitar. “I’m going to make a setlist,” he said.

Louis looked over his shoulder, amused. “A setlist?” They were playing on a street corner, not at the Troubadour. If they were taking it this seriously, they probably should’ve planned ahead.

“Maybe we should start with the Beatles? ‘All You Need is Love’?” Harry suggested, already writing it down. Louis focused on Harry’s hand moving across the paper more than he did on what they should play. Harry was wearing that same expression he did when he wrote lyrics. Eyebrows pulled together, mouth twisted to the side as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

“What else?” Harry asked, shifting Louis’ attention. 

Louis sniffed, clearing his throat. “What about ‘Tales of Us’?” he suggested.

Harry looked up. “That song we wrote together? We never even recorded it.”

“Yeah, because we thought it didn’t work for Still Daffodil. This is just you and me,” Louis said. “Come on, we had a blast when we wrote it. Don’t you remember? We had finished rehearsal and the others wanted to go for a drink but you wanted to hang back and work on a guitar solo. You asked if I wanted to help, but I don’t even think we got to the solo before you pitched me your song idea…”

Harry wanted to write a song from the perspective of himself as a kid. Twelve years old, being reckless and carefree. That borderline between earning responsibility and still spending your allowance on candy. Trying to figure life out before you realized you didn’t have to just yet. It was supposed to be a fun song. Silly, even. And he had to write it with his childhood best friend. 

That night, they sat on the two-foot-tall stage on the back wall of the church basement. Laughing. Reminiscing. Louis had only been in the band for two months. Before now, their relationship had been purely professional, never speaking without instruments in their hands. To even find an ounce of friendship in each other again warmed Louis’ heart just a little bit. Now, he wished that every moment he spent with Harry could feel as uncomplicated as that night felt. As uncomplicated as his memories of being a kid with a best friend that was practically his other half. If they could go through ten years of bullshit and still find each other again, maybe this was a life they were never meant to be apart in.

“Was it scary?” Harry asked, his legs dangling off the stage, his guitar laying next to him. “That’s such a big city to be alone in.”

Louis nodded, squishing the end of the joint they'd shared into the metal buckle of his shoe. “It was fucking terrifying. I did make a few friends and took part in the nightlife, but I couldn’t stop feeling like an outsider. That city wasn’t made for me.”

“Do you regret going?” Harry wondered. He leaned back on his hands, his mind feeling light and hazy. They supposed smoking up in a church basement had to be sacrilegious on some level, but they made sure to crack a window.

“Not at all,” Louis said. “I needed the change of scenery, if anything. I promised myself I’d give it a year before I left, and I did.”

“Are you happier to be home?”

Louis wasn’t sure he liked the interview that this conversation had turned into. He eyed Harry, wondering what kind of answer he was looking for. “I’m happy that the parts I missed most were still here when I got back,” he said.

Harry nodded, a hint of a smile on his stubbled face. Whatever he was looking for, that answer seemed to satisfy it. 

“Okay,” present Harry agreed, once he was able to recall the lyrics of their song in his mind. Whatever he couldn’t remember, Louis would likely pick up the slack. “Then I want to do ‘Diamond Chance’ as well,” he added.

“Diamond Chance” was the song Louis put out on his own when he got back to Colorado. At the time, he thought it was his best work. Now, he rarely listened to it. But it was on his demo, so it couldn’t have been all that bad.

“Do you even know it?” Louis asked.

“Of course I do. I recorded it off the radio.”

The admission surprised him. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “I was proud of you.”

Louis’ cheeks practically glowed red, but it may have been from the sun.

Their setlist ended up being twelve songs, which they played five times with a break in between. They were in Vegas after all, so they stopped to take a look around, get some food and a cold drink. It was surprising, the number of people who would actually throw a few coins in their case. The money paid for their lunch with plenty left over. By the end of the day, they left with around fifty bucks in their pockets.

Louis was quite shocked at how easy it was to make money out of a gig like that. They had to share it, but it was almost a week’s worth of pay. That would surely last them a couple of hotel stays and gas for the drive home.

But the money wasn’t what stuck out for Louis as they packed up their instruments for the day. It was the music he and Harry played together. He’d never had so much fun performing before. There was no stage or lights focusing on them, hecklers who didn’t like half of their songs. It felt like they were playing for themselves. Laughing, goofing off, messing up a chorus and not caring because they could just move on to the next verse. They were even able to get a crowd to stick around for a little while, proving themselves to be the hot new act on the block.

It was fun to watch Harry perform. He brought his stage charisma along with him. Talking to the crowd, flirting in a way that wasn’t really flirting. Like the crowd was one big inanimate object that never had a chance with him, but he liked the chase. Although, Louis found that it was together that they worked best. The banter, the ability to pick up where the other left off, a seamless transition. Their instruments played off each other, their voices played off each other. A gentle dance in the kitchen, a chaotic race to the finish line. And this was without a second of rehearsal. 

“Sometimes I forget how good you are at this,” Harry said afterwards as they walked to the end of the street. Liam said he’d meet them around seven after his shift ended. “You play all these chords I’ve never seen before. And your solos, man. You’re gonna be one of the greats one day.”

“I don't know if you’ll see my name next to Hendrix any time soon,” Louis laughed, feeling as though he couldn’t possibly accept a compliment like that. “But you’re amazing too, man. I love watching you perform. I wish I could see it from the audience sometime, but I’m always standing next to you when we play.”

Harry shook his head. “Wouldn’t have the same effect if you weren’t on the stage with me. That’s why I knew I had to call you when we lost our other guitarist. You make us better.”

Louis smiled at the compliment, but then it fell. Guilt had come wafting back, reminding him that his loyalty was a sham. It was stronger than ever this time, maybe enough to make him crack. 

He tried to push it away. Replace it with a feeling that was stronger. 

“Then why’d you stick me on bass? I know  _ you  _ play bass. You told me that’s what you were playing before you called me up. I mean, it’s a cool instrument and it’s great to jam on, but I’m a guitarist.”

Harry looked thoughtfully and the pavement in front of him, then slowly began nodding his head. “You’re right,” he said, a stern undertone to his voice. “You should be playing lead guitar. The ego battle isn’t worth it. You’re the better instrumentalist. It’s all yours.”

Louis looked up at him, not quite buying it. “You’re the lead singer. There’s always going to be an ego battle.”

Harry laughed. “Then take this one win because you might not get many more.”

_ Alright _ , Louis thought to himself.  _ This was it _ . If Harry was willing to compromise, then he was all in. Louis was officially the lead guitarist of Still Daffodil. No schemes, no ulterior motives. When Louis was on that stage every night, he wanted Harry to be standing next to him. They made each other better. It was obvious, now.

“Can I say something that might sound kind of sappy?” Harry asked.

“Shoot.”

“I’m really happy you agreed to this trip. I know we fight a lot, but you’ve always been one of the most important people in my life. It was weird not seeing you for almost two years. I missed you a lot.”

Louis threw his arm over Harry’s shoulders, pulling him close to his side. His smile was eye-crinklingly bright. “I missed you, too,” Louis said. No matter what, he now knew that they were in this for the long run. Future fights and make-ups be damned. In the grand scheme of things, they were going to be okay.

They found Liam at the end of the block, waiting patiently just as he said. Only, it was Harry’s car that he was sitting in the driver’s seat of, pulled over into a parallel parking spot.

“Liam, I could kiss you!” Harry said leaning through the passenger window.

Liam yanked the keys from the ignition and tossed them to Harry. “Some cash for the water pump would suffice as a thank you,” he said.

Louis, who was holding their money, handed over enough to cover it. They opened the door to get in, but Liam stopped them. “You guys have any plans tonight?” he asked.

Harry and Louis looked at each other. There was no point in heading to LA tonight. Even if they left now, they wouldn’t get there until past midnight. Might as well spend a night in Vegas when they could actually enjoy themselves.

“Not at all,” Harry said.

Liam got out of the car and joined them on the sidewalk. “A buddy of mine owns this bar down the street,” he said. “Off the beaten path, so it’s not a tourist hub or anything like that. They’re having an open mic night tonight.”

“We just played for, like, six hours,” Louis said. Every couple of songs they went for instrumental versions or extended solos to save their voices, but his throat was still feeling quite raw.

Liam shrugged. “It’s just as fun to have a drink and watch the show. I’m going to play a few songs. The people who show up are always great.”

They exchanged looks, long ago having learned to tell what the other was thinking. It’d be fun to go, but no more singing.

“We’re in,” Harry said.

Liam walked into the bar like he had just returned to work from a two-week vacation. All smiles and brief handshakes and “Liam! How’ve you been?” from everyone sitting at the tables and up to the bar. It was a younger crowd. Not the kind you’d see in clubs, but the ones who felt they outgrew the party scene. They sipped wine and cocktails and chatted quietly over dim candles. Louis was used to the bars where you took a shot and headed to the dance floor, or drank a beer while you lost at a game of pool or darts. He did notice a pool table in the corner, but it was covered with a cloth. Instead, everyone’s attention was on the stage.

“What do you guys drink?” Liam asked as they found a table near the back. 

“Don’t worry, it’s on us,” Harry insisted. “I’ll get a round. Louis, rum and Coke?”

Louis gave a thumbs up. Now that he was indoors, the grogginess from spending the whole day in the sun was starting to hit him.

“Liam?” Harry pointed at him.

“Rum and Coke sounds great. Thanks, man,” he said.

Open mic night was no joke at this place. The girl sitting on a stool on stage had a soulful tone to her voice, one you’d often find in professionals with years of training. Another girl was accompanying her on keyboard, mirroring the passion on her face and in her words. Louis didn’t know the song so he figured it was an original. A spotlight glowed on them both, but they didn’t need it to steal the show.

“Holy shit!” Louis heard from behind him, quiet enough not to disrupt the performance.

Louis looked over his shoulder to see a friendly face he hadn’t laid eyes on in years. “Niall?!”

He stood from his chair, pulling his old friend into a tight embrace. “You’re far from home. What are you doing in my bar?” Niall said, face squished into Louis’ shoulder.

“ _ Your _ bar?” Louis let him go, surprised and gleeful all at once. “Since when?”

“Since my uncle left it to me back in spring. As soon as I found out, I decided to pack my bags and put that business degree to use. Pretty nice college graduation gift, huh?”

“Your uncle died?”

“Meh, no one knew him.” Niall nonchalantly threw his arm over Louis’ shoulders. “Liam, how do you know my old roommate?”

“Had to rescue him and his buddy from a couple con artists and a leaky water pump. Said they’re headed to LA.”

Niall turned back to Louis, pointing a finger into his chest. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.”

“Niall?!”

“Harry!” Niall let Louis go, running to the other side of the table once Harry put the glasses down. “You must be the buddy.”

“Huh?”

“He owns the place,” Liam briefly explained.

“Did you pay for your drinks? Who let you pay?” Niall continued. 

“It’s fine,” Harry laughed, trying to grasp what he just walked in on. “Join us, please.” He gestured to the last open seat as he took the one next to Louis.

“I will when I get back,” Niall said, placing a rough hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen, you’re drinking on me the rest of the night and we’ll catch up in a bit. You’ll never guess who else is here! He’s performing next.” Niall patted Harry’s back, then ran off as the two girls finished their performance to a round of applause.

As Niall left, Louis shook his head and took one of the rum and Cokes. It looked like Harry got a vodka soda for himself, or maybe gin and tonic. “Small fucking world,” Louis said, his tongue finding the straw.

And the world was even smaller, he soon found out, as the next performer walked out on stage. Zayn smiled and offered a shy wave to the crowd, then took a seat behind the keyboard. At the same time, Harry and Louis looked at each other muttering “What the fuck?” under their breaths.

“Niall said his friend from college was visiting this weekend,” Liam told them. “I take it you know him, too?”

“What’s he even doing now?” Louis turned to Harry. “Have you talked to him?” 

Harry shrugged. “Not since I dropped out.”

Zayn didn’t notice his friends in the crowd, but when he was finished, Niall dragged him over. They pulled up another chair and went through the rounds of “Holy shit!” and “What are you doing here?” again. Liam seemed bemused by the situation, but he was quick to fall into the rhythm of the group. Their catch-up chat was his get-to-know-you chat.

Liam considered himself a simple man. He was living a lot like Louis was. Dreaming of the musician’s life but working a job he hated. Busking wasn’t a steady job. You had luck some days and made nothing others. That’s what this whole town was like. When he was nineteen, Liam volunteered with the Peace Corps to keep himself out of the draft. He was lucky to only have done a year and get out without heading to Vietnam. Ever since he got back, he craved his passions. Music and art: the beautiful things that didn’t make the world feel so terrible. He may not have been there, but he heard more stories than the average American. If he had to do something with his life, he later decided, music was the way to go.

Niall’s story was much simpler. He worked hard in college, determined to get his degree and start earning a living. He’d only owned this bar for about four months, but it was becoming his entire life. His pride and joy. All his life, Niall always wanted to follow the basic steps. Once he had a good job, he wanted to find a wife. Then he’d have a few kids and build them a house. Growing up, he didn’t think he’d be making all that happen in Las Vegas, but he loved it here. The beauty of life was found in the unexpected twists and turns. If anyone was up for embracing every turn, it was Niall. 

Zayn was the only one of them who seemed to follow his plan exactly how he pictured it. In college, he was studying education and minoring in English, which was what made him and Harry so close for a while. When he got back home to Colorado after his brief Vegas vacation, he was set to start his first year as a student teacher. High school English, to be exact. He was going to be helping out with the art program, as well. Based on his performance, Louis was glad to see that he was still doing music on the side. With a voice like that, he couldn’t let it go to waste. 

The success of Louis’ friends thrilled him. Everyone was happy and thriving, starting to live out those dreams they only talked about back in school. It was wild how quickly those conversations had manifested into reality. 

“How about you, man?” Niall said, looking at Louis. They had all ordered a second round, but Louis settled for water this time.

“Didn’t you go to New York when you dropped out?” Zayn said, waving his finger across the table as he remembered. “What was that like?”

“Yeah,” Harry added, folding his hands on his lap. “I haven’t even heard this story.”

That was because Louis didn’t often care to tell it. He’d go with condensed versions: It wasn’t his kind of city, so he moved back. It was too expensive. There were more opportunities for him at home. None of it was true, of course, but if he said it enough times he might believe it.

“Well, it was a great four months,” he began.

Harry looked at him funny. “Four months? I thought you were gone for a year.”

“I was,” Louis said. “Four months in New York working at a bodega, and eight months in Gloversville doing quality tests for a record plant. Sounds fun, but believe me, that’s not where you want to be when you listen to music you love. Most of it definitely wasn’t music I loved, either. Played a lot of music, though. In little bars around the city, like this. And I wrote a  _ ton _ . Filled up about ten notebooks of lyrics and hated most of it, but I loved doing it.” Louis smiled to himself, then. He may have been looking back at his time away through a bit of a rose coloured lens, but he knew the reality well-enough. “Oh, and fun little fact I forgot about: if you drop out of college, you become eligible for the draft. That letter has got to be the scariest thing to find in your mail. I failed my physical, thankfully. Did you know they don’t actually check if you say you have a medical condition? Claiming I was anemic saved me from going to war, I tell ya.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed, not expecting that last admission. “That’s…”

“Scary,” Liam finished for him, expression stiff. “I’m glad to hear you didn’t have to go.”

Louis nodded his appreciation. “Always had music, though. When I got home, I recorded my song—”

“Diamond Chance!” Niall exclaimed, hitting his beer on the table as he swallowed his gulp. The mic was still open for the night, but there were no takers, so one of the bartenders took over disc jockey duty.

Louis laughed. “That’s the one. You heard it?”

“Couple times,” Niall nodded. “Told everyone I knew that it was my old pal Louis.”

“What about you?” Zayn nudged Harry, the candle glowing warmly on their faces. “You dropped off the face of the earth just before Christmas. What happened?”

“Well,” Harry slouched lower in his seat, blowing air lazily in a steady stream, “I found an ad in the paper. This band was looking for a new lead singer and I thought about how that was something I always wanted to do. Louis taught me to play, but I never put it to use. It was just our thing, you know? Learn all our favourite songs in my bedroom when we were kids. Playing for each other, not a crowd.”

Louis smiled, his eyes falling to his hands that were clasped around the drink he was hunched over.

“I realized that the only thing keeping me in school was knowing that as long as I was there, I couldn’t get drafted.”

“You only had a semester left,” Zayn said.

“And I knew that if I finished, I’d already be settling for plan B when plan A was sitting on my lap in that newspaper,” Harry said.

“But you lost your ability to defer,” Liam pointed out.

Harry nodded slowly. “And if I ever get that letter, I’m coming up with every sickness in the book. What did you say?” He looked at Louis. “Anemia? Hell, I’ll head to Canada if I have to.”

“You think Still Daffodil will make it in Canada?” Louis said. Part of him was joking, but he and Harry already ended up spending most of their lives following each other. What was stopping him now?

“Joni Mitchell is Canadian,” Harry said, though he couldn’t think of any other examples off the top of his head.

When it was Liam’s turn to go up, their table cheered along with the other patrons. He seemed to have his own level of fame around here. No one was surprised that he opted for original songs. If anything, they cheered louder when he started, like they knew the song already. This was his hottest gig. Louis didn’t know why he was surprised to learn Liam was so good. He had this deep, full tone to his voice, and his lyrics were soft and delicate. His songs were like a haiku, the beauty of the world encapsulated in just a few lines. You had to admire the guy’s talent. Louis remembered that Liam’s demo was sitting in his bag, and he wondered again if he should maybe leave it behind for an exec to find in his couch cushions.

Louis looked around as Liam played, still coming down from the disbelief that his friends had somehow all found themselves here. The last time they were all together… Wow, Louis didn’t even know. It had to have been that summer, he supposed, just before he left across the country. Was it that party Harry threw? The one he claimed would be an annual tradition but only made it two years?  _ That  _ long ago? It felt like so much had happened in his life between now and then. A couple of jobs, a couple of moves, a couple of different faces. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to leave his old friends behind in his haste to find something new.

“He’s really good, huh?” Harry leaned over to say. His arm came with him, stretching behind Louis’ chair and staying there. Louis would’ve thought nothing of it if it weren’t for the way Harry was brushing his thumb slowly across his shoulder.

“He is,” Louis said, but his voice got caught in his throat. He didn’t even try to cover it up.

“Are you gonna go up there?” Harry wondered. His head was tilted to the side, looking hopeful.

“By myself?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Try out some new song you’ve never played in front of a crowd before. I’ll go if you go.”

Louis laughed. “Meaning I have to go first?”

The decision was made too quickly. Harry got Niall’s attention and let him know Louis would be up next. He had about two minutes to pick a song and couldn’t think of anything good enough off the top of his head. As he sat at the tiny side-stage stool, Louis looked through his notebook that he had kept in his guitar case all day. He flipped through it all, cover to cover, hoping to stumble on some forgotten greatness. And then he found the song—the one he wrote last night, yet to even be named.

He looked out at the crowd, the people watching the last few minutes of Liam’s set. Harry had a smile on his face, his foot tapping along. Louis must’ve been staring too long because Harry caught him. But he didn’t seem surprised or confused. He just sent Louis a wink and mouthed the words  _ You’re gonna do great! _

The stage lights were brighter than he remembered, the crowd becoming nothing but silhouettes. He forgot how much he liked this part of performing that removed all the intimidation. Niall walked up with him, adjusting the microphone and making sure he was good to go. He gave Louis a toothy grin and two thumbs up before he scrambled back into the darkness.

It reminded Louis of the first night he ever performed by himself. It was at a bar kind of like this, but back home. He was seventeen years old, not even a high school graduate. With just a guitar a few covers up his sleeve, Louis got his first taste of the dream he’d been wanting to chase ever since. Harry was with him that night. He was the only person Louis wanted to invite. Right from the start, they were always each other’s biggest fans.

“I’m Louis,” he said into the microphone, trying to avoid looking amateurish by squinting. “And this is a song I wrote, um, last night.” Then he took a half step away and began plucking the strings.

_ “Had to ride the river stream _

_ Hate to admit that I am green _

_ But I’ve been searching, searching for that clue…” _

After that first performance, Harry—just as young, hair shorter, skin smoother—made sure to cheer the loudest, becoming fully responsible for Louis’ wide grin. They practically skipped home together. Laughing, singing, dreaming. Next week, Harry was going to bring his guitar and try it out for himself. And Louis would be in the audience, front row, cheering even louder.

“ _ From lessons learned and broken smiles _

_ I followed you across every mile _

_ Ten years lost when I broke down and withdrew…” _

They didn’t go back the next week. Harry got too nervous and they weren’t sure it was smart trying to get into a bar while underage again. They hadn’t ordered any drinks, but it felt like a thrill just the same. Instead, Louis went out to the backyard and built Harry a stage of his own out of apple crates. Four of them turned upside down and hammered together with a couple of nails. He brought out a lawn chair and turned it around so Harry didn’t have to look anyone in the eye while he sang. “You’re going to be doing this for thousands of people, one day,” Louis told him. “And I’m the only person in the world who will get to say I was at your first show.”

Harry would have to share the honour of being at Louis’ with a few other people, but he was alright with that.

_ “ I fought it hard, I fought so long _

_ I wished I’d sooner played along _

_ Cause all these tales we share were meant for few... ” _

His eyes found Harry’s, intense, intrigued.

_ “ Just me and you… ” _

In Harry’s eyes, Louis found a slide projector of their lives. Every memory only they would ever share. They grew up together, even through all the time they spent apart. Louis could list every detail he had memorized without even realizing it. The scar Harry had just above his knee when they tried to learn how to roller skate without any padding. How much Harry hated pickles yet somehow always forgot to order his burgers without them, but Louis was happy to add the extras to his. The way he thoughtfully dazed in class, his eyes drifting towards the window as he spun his pencil between his fingers, adorably surprised every time the teacher told him to focus. The way he wrote his H’s, and A’s, and R’s, and Y’s. Louis had spent far too long gazing at the name left on a few of his records. Further inspection revealed dark pen lines under some of the lyrics in the album booklets. All the words that struck his heart. Harry was a fan of music just as much as he was a student of the craft. 

_ “ Ten years had come and gone so fast, _

_ I’ll never forget that subtle laugh, _

_ You made every time you said something cute…” _

Just the sound of Harry’s laugh painted a picture in Louis’ mind. It was vast fields of roses under blue skies, the warmth of the sun caressing your skin. It was a peaceful walk home from the record store down quiet streets, that new album tucked under your arm, ready to be blasted in your teenage bedroom. It was the feeling after an electrifying concert, your ears ringing as damp night air envelops you outside the venue, elated fans walking back to their cars with their arms around their friends. It was being a little kid at the beach, building your first sandcastle and letting the sparkling water wash your hands clean. Lately, that laugh had been giving Louis butterflies worthy of a rollercoaster forever falling from its tallest peak. Louis would keep falling as long as Harry was the one squeezing his hand all the way down. 

_ “ Through thick and thin we’d said it all _

_ Bared our souls, punched through a wall _

_ And still, I've known that one thing's stayed true… ” _

He let the suspense of the lyrics hang in the air. Harry’s lips parted as he stared, his eyebrows arched, cheeks flush. These words were about him. For him. No one else matched up. Louis dropped his eyes as he said the final words barely above a whisper, but the mic picked them up.

_ “All this time I’ve been in love with you... ” _

Louis let his fingers play the last notes lazily underneath the applause. With a racing heart, he muttered a quick thank you without looking up. His face was red hot and he needed some fresh air. The air outside wasn’t cool, but at least it would get him out of here. Trying not to make a scene, he walked quickly down the hall towards the bathrooms and out the back door, using both hands to shove it open. A gentle wind hit his face in the alleyway between the buildings, still warm even though the sun had set.

He shook his head rapidly, trying to rid his body of whatever he was feeling right now. What started as a tingle now turned his arms and legs into jelly. Louis paced back and forth, feeling sweat pour from his temples as he pulled at the skin behind his neck. His mind was blank except for the image of Harry looking back at him. Louis took a sharp breath through his nose, his eyes closed tight.

But when the door burst open, Louis spun to face the sound. Not a moment was spared for his reaction before Harry was rushing towards him. Without a word, he pulled Louis in with his hands on his cheeks and he kissed him hard. Louis brought his hands up, holding Harry’s waist and letting himself drift into the blissful feeling he’d been longing for. The easy rhythm, the taste he missed. Louis didn’t know where to put his hands because he wanted to feel all of him. His thumb brushed along Harry’s stubbled cheek in desperate need of a shave, travelling down his arm to his elbow, then falling to the slight curve of his waist. Once Harry’s hand found the back of Louis’ neck, he left it there, using his other arm to hold Louis tightly in the embrace.

When they parted to speak, it was breathless. Overwhelming in the best possible way. They smiled, then broke into laughter while holding the other just the same.

“Why is it that we’re always a little tipsy when we want to do this?” Louis said, though there wasn’t much sincerity to his question. Many moments in his life, he wished he was doing exactly this.

“We’ve never been brave enough to do it sober,” Harry said, and Louis hated that he thought he was right.

“I’ve never been too afraid to kiss you,” Louis told him. He realized he’d never been this close to Harry while still being able to look into his eyes. “I was just scared that I’d only ever get to do it once.”

Harry pinched Louis’ chin to hold it up. “Now I know you’re definitely tipsy. You’d never say something that sappy without a drink.”

“I only had one drink.”

“You’ve always been a lightweight.”

“That was three hours ago.”

Harry smiled, nodding slowly. “I’ve been drinking water all night.”

Before the moment passed, Louis kissed him again. And in that kiss, he realized this might be one of his favourite things in the world. Being able to hold the one person he spent his life chasing. Now, he was finally able to catch up.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis had never slept in a king-sized bed before. It felt massive, the blankets sprawling around him. Technically, he woke up on the left side, but it was more like the middle. He was pretty sure an entire family could fit comfortably next to him. With the curtains of the room pulled closed, he couldn’t tell how early it was. His body had quickly gotten used to waking up in strange places, but this one came as a pleasant surprise.

Last night was a night that would be locked into Louis’ memory forever, that he knew for sure. After their alleyway rendezvous, Harry and Louis weren’t sure they should go back inside and explain themselves to the others. Really, they didn’t feel they had to. Other priorities were now on their mind. Luckily, there was a nice hotel across the street, and Louis had all their cash sitting in his pocket.

As soon as the door was closed, they picked up right where they left off. Louis wanted to keep things slow and comfortable, not hasty. This was new and different, but it felt like years in the making. He could feel a similar uncertainty in Harry’s movements, wanting to make sure he was doing everything right. Once they found an ease and rhythm, everything became natural. Nights like these were rarely perfect, but he wanted this one to be.

“Is this okay?” Harry kept asking, and Louis would reply with a nod and a gentle kiss.

“I’ll let you know if it’s not,” he told him.

“Have you done this with a guy before?” Harry wondered when they had slowed their pace. 

“Yes,” Louis said passively.

“When?”

Louis looked up to him with a confused laugh. “Is this the time for stories?”

“Do I know him?”

This time, Louis pushed himself up properly so he was hovering above him, abandoning his previous task—something that Harry wouldn’t be too pleased with. He could tell by the way Harry had his eyebrows goofily raised that he was just trying to be a pest.

“Do you want me to do this or not?”

Harry gasped mockingly. “Was it… Niall?”

Louis could physically feel his arousal fleeting. “No, but do you remember that time you went to Chicago for a weekend in freshman year? Well, one thing led to another with Zayn and it ended in  _ your  _ bed.” 

For a split second, he could see the shock in Harry’s eyes before he realized Louis was joking.

Harry scrunched up his nose. “You’re really going to put that picture in my mind now?”

“You started it,” Louis defended.

“Come on, man!”

“Don’t call me ‘man’ when I’m about to get you off!”

At that, Harry’s laughter came out like a snort. He didn’t even try to hide it, and that only made Louis laugh harder. Louis let one elbow give, his forehead falling to Harry’s chest. For a while they just lay there, feeling the ridiculousness of the situation. There was no one else in the world either could imagine being with, in a moment like this. It could only ever be each other. That laughter, Louis realized, was what made the night perfect. 

The night did carry on as planned until they eventually fell asleep playing a figurative game of I Spy. With their eyes closed, one picked a setting, then the other tried to guess all the things that could be in that room until they were right. The more outrageous and specific the item, the better. Like a dime found in the bottom of a laundromat washing machine, or the piece of gum stuck under a bowling alley chair. Harry claimed that only five clues were allowed, but Louis quite easily charmed his way to more.

It wasn’t often Louis woke up next to someone, but this morning he clung to Harry sleepily. Awake with his eyes still closed. Harry’s bare legs warm against his.

“It’s eight a.m.,” Harry said.

Louis groaned.

“Our meeting is at three.”

“So far away,” Louis said, his voice caught in a yawn.

“It’s a four-hour drive. And we have to go back to Liam’s.”

“So much time.” Louis stretched more of his body across Harry’s, his leg flopping over his waist.

“Last night was wonderful,” Harry told him.

Louis hummed, eyes still closed, and raised a finger. “Yes. It. Was,” he said, poking Harry’s nose between each word.

Harry turned on his side, a hand under his cheek. “But we do need to go.”

Louis groaned again, pulling the blankets over both of their heads.

“Louis!”

“Let’s just live here now,” Louis said. “In our big blanket fort.”

“I’m taking a shower,” Harry announced, throwing the blanket at their feet. The longer he entertained Louis’ desire to sleep in, the easier he would be to persuade.

“I’ll sleep until you’re finished.”

Harry stopped in the doorway, his hand on the frame as he looked over his shoulder. “It’s a big shower,” he said.

Louis peeked one eye open. In some cases, he, too, could be easy to persuade.

Admittedly, Harry and Louis had no idea what to tell Liam about their disappearance. Surely Niall and Zayn would be confused as well. You don’t just run from your table full of pals to chase the boy you’ve been best friends with for years out the back door after he finished a song confessing his love for you and just assume everyone thinks it’s cool and normal. All three of those guys knew their story, Liam included, and Louis’ lyrics were pretty obvious. A few pieces of the puzzle must’ve clicked.

Thankfully, Liam was home when their cab arrived in front of his house. Harry was even more grateful to see his car sitting in the driveway. When he answered the door, Liam was rightfully confused, but he wasn’t looking for answers.

“Glad to see you found your way back,” he said, holding open the screen door.

Harry and Louis were standing a pointed foot apart. Harry grinned. Louis looked at his feet with unease. They probably should’ve come up with an excuse on their way over here.

“It was a crazy night,” Harry began, side-eyeing Louis to help him out.

“Yeah, we, uh. We just wanted to go for a quick walk, but then—”

Liam raised a hand to stop them. “Niall and Zayn explained everything to me. Well, their side of things. I figured out the rest on my own.”

“What?” Louis turned to Harry. “What did you tell them?!”

“Me?!”

“No one told anyone anything! Guys,” Liam started, almost laughing, “this house has two bedrooms. I live here with another guy. You slept in the guest bedroom.”

Realization hit them at the same time, a shared silent “Ooooh” trailing off in their heads. When he spelled it out like that, it made perfect sense.

“I’m sure you guys want to make an early start. Come on in and grab your stuff,” Liam smiled, stepping out of the way.

The guest room was just as they left it, so they hurried to stuff everything back in their bags. Louis’ was a heaping mess, but he didn’t care. As long as it was all there, he didn’t need to be able to zip it up. Liam offered them to stay for a bowl of cereal before they hit the road. Realizing they hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, they agreed happily. On their way out the door, they thanked Liam a thousand times more and made sure to get his number so they kept in touch. He gave them Niall’s new number, as well, and assured them that they’d always have a place to stay next time they were in Vegas. Like Sammy and Debbie, it was nice to make new friends who felt like old ones. And like their promise to Sammy and Debbie, they were pretty sure they’d be back.

Harry was more than happy to be back in the driver’s seat. It had only been a day, but just knowing his car was back in working order was a huge relief. Only four hours and they’d finally be in LA and on their way to the meeting. The idea of it hadn’t quite sunk in for Louis yet. This whole trip had been pretty surreal. Four days ago, there was no way he could’ve predicted he’d be feeling like this. Excited, dedicated, infatuated. Maybe a little more than that.

Since they had no more tapes to fill the silence of the drive, they opted for the radio. But when the radio got boring, they fell into conversation instead. All this time, they hadn’t truly given themselves a chance to catch up. They had reminisced about old times and rehashed old debates, but not quite filled each other in on what they missed. It reminded Louis of what he found in the sun visor before their little Vegas visit. So he reached above Harry’s head for the envelope he knew was still there. 

“Have you looked at these?” Louis asked.

Harry watched him pull out the stack of photos. “No, but clearly you have.”

“How do you know?”

Harry laughed. “Because you knew they were there!” he said, but it was an endearing sort of accusation.

The first picture worth noting that Louis stumbled upon was the one on the porch. It still made him smile to see their past selves so happy. He knew those two boys were going through some shit. The world was scary and confusing and they were just trying to muddle their way through it. Louis was coming to terms with a whole lot of self-discovery. Harry was still trying to convince himself he was making all the right decisions. But the times, they were-a-changin’. They were happy then, and they were even happier now. 

“This is my favourite picture of us, I think,” Louis said.

Harry squinted to look at it. “That’s the day we came home from our first year of college, isn’t it? Who took that?”

“Your mom, I figured.”

“But that’s her foot in the photo.” He pointed to the bottom corner of the picture where it looked like someone was sitting in the porch rocking chair. “My dad wasn’t home from work yet when we got there. It must’ve been Richie.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Louis exclaimed. “Your dad wanted to barbecue that night and invited me over for dinner. Richie drove me home after because you fell asleep on the couch. He wanted to hear everything that happened that we couldn’t say in front of your parents.”

Harry smiled, shaking his head because that sounded exactly like Richie. “Why do you think he took the picture?” he wondered.

Louis shrugged. “Maybe he missed his favourite boys.” He looked at Harry, then back to the picture. “Remember, he used to always call us that?”

“I do,” Harry nodded, smile fading as his eyes stared straight ahead.

At thirteen years old, about a year into Harry and Louis’ friendship, Richie caught them going through his records. The boys were yet to hit their intense music phase that never seemed to end. Yet to develop any kind of taste that didn’t include the theme songs to their favourite shows and whatever their parents listened to in the car. Richie was fifteen, the prime age for music taste development. He listened to a lot of the Beatles and Elvis, stuff the girls at school loved. His first girlfriend was actually the person who got him into all his first favourites. Girls always did know music best. 

“I told you to stay out of here!” Richie exclaimed from his doorway, practically scaring the boys out of their wits. They spun their heads to look over their shoulders, eyes wide.

Louis took off running first. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Harry yelled, keeping up behind him.

They pushed past Richie in the doorway, but Richie grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt. Not aggressively, but in a way that was shocking enough for Louis to stop in his tracks at Harry’s yelp, wondering if it was worth it to go back for his friend.

“Hold on,” Richie said. Louis thought he was about to witness the ass-kicking of the century. “Which one were you looking at?”

Richie’s grip loosened. Harry looked up, expression softening. Louis tiptoed back down the hallway, peeking his head around the corner.

Crossing the messy room to his record player that he kept under his window, Richie picked up the record Harry had dropped to the floor. “Bob Dylan,” he observed. “Did you guys listen to it?”

Harry shook his head back and forth quickly. “We didn’t touch the disc, I swear!”

“Louis, get in here!” Richie called.

Only Louis’ foot appeared in the doorway. Then his left arm and only half of his face. His expression remained neutral. He refused to go any further.

“I’m not mad, I promise,” Richie said.

Louis took another tentative step forward, knowing better than to fully trust him.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

“You want to hear the record, don’t you?”

Richie looked between the boys, who then looked at each other for confirmation. They nodded at the same time.

“If you promise not to come in my room without permission anymore, I’ll play it for you.”

Harry’s face brightened. “Really?!”

“If you promise!”

Louis and Harry each spit in their hands, then Richie did the same. It was the strongest promise any teenage boy could make in 1963.

A year later, Richie got his license. Rather than going out joyriding with his buddies or taking a girl out on a date—Richie was a notorious “young stud” around town—he took his little brother and his little brother’s best friend on a little cruise. Being fourteen, Harry and Louis were eager to finally know someone close to their age who had a licence. They got burgers and sodas hung out in the Burger King parking lot, Richie giving the boys terrible big brother advice and Harry and Louis treating it like it was priceless knowledge.

It was a Saturday and they had nowhere to be. Curfew was technically ten o’clock on weekends, but no one really got in trouble unless they strolled in past midnight. That’s why Richie decided his idea was so perfect. He drove them an hour down to Denver, a route he had wished he knew better, but the signs got him there. Harry and Louis had no idea where they were headed, but they trusted Richie to take them somewhere cool. And they were right. The sun was setting just as Richie pulled into the parking lot of the Red Rocks Amphitheatre.

This was one of Richie’s favourite places. He’d only been here a few times before with some friends, but never at sunset. It was a short hike from where he parked to actually get to the theatre, but soon the three of them were standing behind the highest row of seats, looking out at the stage built between a massive carving of rocks. The sky glowed orange over the vast Denver landscape, highlighting every rough peak. They felt like they were standing in a secret from the rest of the world. Richie couldn’t believe how beautiful it looked.

“This is far out!” Louis boasted, standing in a row all by himself.

“Ray Charles played here last week,” Richie told them, remembering from the paper.

“No way!” Harry said as he made his way toward Louis to join him.

Richie kept looking out at the view. He knew the world had bigger stages and better views, but he hadn’t seen the world. Being so close to home, this felt like the place you came to dream. You sat here and imagined your life in ten years, in twenty years. You waited for the stars to come out and you looked out at the infinite galaxy and thought about what it would be like to explore it. Thought about the fact that you were part of it. It didn’t matter how small you were compared to the moon or the sun because existence itself was just so incredible. You got to look out at the moon’s beauty and feel the sun’s warmth. Search for meaning in the stars. Those were the kind of things Richie thought about a lot, but he never said them out loud.

He looked over at his little brother. Harry and Louis were walking across the steps like it was a balancing act, Harry one row above. Richie knew Harry thought about these things, too, but Harry wasn’t afraid to talk about them. He’d tell Richie all his dreams on the way to school in the morning, then he’d have a brand new set on the way home. Harry had an exciting life ahead of him. Richie had no idea what he had.

“Hey,” Richie called to them. They turned their heads. “You guys play music, right?”

“Yeah,” Louis called back. “What about it?”

“How’d you like to play a place like this one day?” Richie raised his arms as if to display the theatre around him. 

Harry and Louis looked at each other, then laughed in the “That’ll never happen” kind of way.

“You never know,” Richie shrugged, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. “Next time I’m here, maybe it’ll be to see my favourite boys in concert.”

None of them had ever gone back to the amphitheatre. One day, they still could.

Louis flipped through a few more photos, even though it was Harry who hadn’t seen them yet. He wondered if Richie was in any of them that he missed the first time around, but he didn’t see him. Louis was looking with a purpose, anyway. His fingers stopped at the last one.

“You were right about this one. It turned out pretty good,” Louis said, holding up the photo.

Harry took it from him with a thoughtful smile that made his eyes crinkle. He held it just above the wheel so he could take a longer look while he drove. It was an admiring gaze. This was the photo of Louis from that night in Harry’s apartment, the glass covering one eye, goofy expression on his face. “You look so much like yourself here,” Harry said. “You’re never this open in other photos I’ve seen of you.”

He was right. Louis was never the biggest fan of getting his photo taken. But it was different when he was having fun and feeling a little tipsy, and when Harry was the person behind the camera. Just as Louis had thought about that night, he could see the memory flash through Harry’s eyes. Silently, he let Harry reminisce to himself.

“Did you ever think about calling when you were in New York?” Harry wondered.

Louis didn’t know how to answer that. Of course he thought about calling. He wanted to call every day, but there was a certain sting that came with his last memory of hearing Harry’s voice. “I should’ve called,” he said, looking tentatively at his hands, fingers rubbing at his dry knuckles.

“Would you have known what to say?”

That question was easier. “Not at all.”

“Louis, you don’t know what happened after that night,” Harry said, moving his hands to the bottom of the steering wheel. Louis thought to reach out to him, to offer his hand in comfort, but the gravity of Harry’s tone stopped him. “Let me tell you how I remember it.”

The tension was obvious that night. Looking back, Harry knew it couldn’t have been the liquor. They had spent plenty of nights doing just this. Drinking too much, listening to the music they loved more when they were together, making each other laugh until one of them took it too far. The tension had always been there. Over the years, it just drifted into the back of their minds.

When Louis kissed him, Harry was waiting for it. He remembered the fleeting thoughts during the evening. Every gentle touch, every pregnant pause.  _ Is this it? Is this when it’s finally going to happen?  _ Telling their usual closeness apart from a newfound intimacy was impossible. So when Louis leaned in, Harry met him halfway. The surprise didn’t come until after. He wanted it to happen, but only a small part of him thought it ever would.

And,  _ god _ _,_ that offer.  _ Run away with me, Harry!  _ That’s the way he heard it. A plea that he wanted so badly to say yes to, but Louis was asking him to give up too much. His home, his family, his career. Not to mention there was a war happening right now. Everyone knew you were safe as long as you were going to school. 

“Just wait until we graduate,” Harry had insisted that night. “We’ll go together and we’ll have our degrees and I’ll get my masters at a New York college.”  _ We can be together here _ .  _ We don’t have to wait for that _ , he wanted to add. He should’ve because it felt like his strongest argument, but he couldn’t bring himself to make such daring promises quite yet.

Harry just wished he had more time to decide. Maybe if Louis gave him a couple of weeks then they could make a proper plan. Find an apartment and jobs. If they did it right, it was a great idea. But Louis wasn’t interested in a plan. He just wanted to leave, riding on impulse the whole way. A plan ruined the fun. That’s the way Louis used to think. Harry was too afraid of everything that a yes would entail.

So, Louis left, and Harry cleaned up their glasses by himself. He turned off the music, letting the silence take over his lonely apartment. Then he got in the shower and ran the water hot and dreamed of a life in New York. But this dream wasn’t the city or all the opportunities it could bring. It was just the face of a boy with a sad smile whose image would be burned in the back of his mind forever if he stuck with saying no.

The next morning, Harry’s eyes shot open and his mind was made. It wasn’t even a question anymore. So many times in his life did he let Louis go. Every time he missed him. Every time, he wondered who would be first to make the call, to show up unannounced and make things right. But last night, there was nothing said that had to be apologized for, and yet Harry still felt that heavy heart that arguments often left him with.

Before even giving himself a chance to get dressed, Harry ran to his kitchen. He didn’t have to plan what to say because the only word he needed was ‘yes.’ His phone hung on the wall, but just as he reached for it, it started ringing.

Harry picked it up without waiting for the second ring. Maybe it was Louis, telling him he was already on his way to pick him up. Harry didn’t need too much time to pack his necessities. He could be out of here in ten minutes.

“Hello?”

“Hey, little brother!”

Richie. It had been a couple of weeks since he last heard from his big brother. Richie found a labour job a few cities over so he could make a little more cash than he was for filling potholes back home. Once or twice a month, they both returned home to their parents’ house for a family dinner. They weren’t as close as they had been as teenagers, but they were still closer than most siblings.

“How’ve you been, Richie?” Harry asked, tucking his hand under his opposite arm and leaning back against the wall. 

“Harry, listen. I have something important to tell you, but you can’t tell Mom and Dad. I’ll let them know at dinner this weekend, okay?”

Knowing Richie, it could be anything—good or bad. He was finally moving away for school. He met a girl and they decided to elope. He made a bad bet and was in desperate need of some cash. Whatever it was, Harry held his breath for the answer.

“They were sending him away,” Harry told Louis, but it looked more like he was telling his steering wheel. “He finally got his draft notice. Basic training. Passed his physical.” He offered a facetious smile. “For so long, that was my biggest fear. We were all safe because we were in school, but Richie… There was nothing he could do about it. He was the perfect fucking candidate.”

Louis didn’t know what to say. He remembered the night they called the draft numbers, huddled around a TV with their loved ones in silent fear. All three of their birthdays were in the first third, but Harry and Louis were in college, so it only mattered for Richie. They knew he was going to get his letter. It was just a matter of when.

“Did he come home?” Louis asked quietly, staring at his hands.

When Harry shook his head, Louis’ heart sank. But then he said, “He’s still there.”

Louis’ eyebrows raised in surprise.

“They promoted him to a Corporal or something like that. So he stayed. Me and Mom and Dad worry every day, but he thinks he’s doing his country proud.”

Louis didn’t have to ask Harry what he thought about all of this. For years, Harry had been at every anti-war protest their college put on. He wrote articles about it for the school paper. Made speeches about the careless loss of civilian lives. He hated everything war stood for. So did Louis, but Harry was more vocal about making a change.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis wasn’t making any accusations. He just wanted to get the full story. 

“It scared the hell out of me. After hearing that, I knew I couldn’t leave. A few days later, I called you up to tell you what happened. You were the only person I wanted to talk to about it, just to get all the grief and fear off my chest. But you had already left.”

Louis’ stomach was twisting and turning. “If I had known—”

“But you didn’t,” Harry said. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who kept it from you.”

With this new knowledge, Louis had no idea how to feel. Harry was willing to leave with him. He was going to pick up and move away so they could start new lives together. But the news about Richie… that hit him harder. Richie was practically his own brother. The thought of him not coming home was terrifying. 

There was nothing really that Louis could say. An apology didn’t feel right, and neither did words of sympathy. As of right now, Richie was okay, but it didn’t feel that way. So Louis slid over to the middle seat and took Harry’s hand in both of his, then rested his head on his shoulder. Harry knew now that any time he needed to talk, Louis was here. He had no plans to leave any time soon.

At the next gas station, they stopped for a quick break. The car still hadn’t been topped up since it broke down in Nevada and they got into the habit of stretching their feet every two hours or so. This time, Harry volunteered to fill up the tank while Louis made a trip into the convenience store. 

“If they have any sunglasses, can you grab me a pair?” Harry called after him from across the parking lot.

The request hit Louis with a reminder that he was the last one to wear the sunglasses. He turned around, walking backwards. “Yours should be in my bag,” he said. “I’ll check just in case.” They had, after all, been robbed. If those robbers were smart, they would’ve snatched those aviators, too. Not that they were worth anything, but you go through all that work to break into a car, you should take what you can get.

For some reason, when the car had been ransacked, they stole all the snacks. Louis wasn’t hungry at the moment, but he was still mourning the loss of his Easy Cheese. In lieu, he supposed, he could just pick up a box of Mike and Ikes for him and Harry to share. But the number one item on his shopping list was an ice-cold Coke. They only had bottles again, but knowing Harry had his bottle opener meant it was no problem. He made sure to pick up a 7Up for Harry as well. He’d appreciate it in this kind of heat. They didn’t have a sunglasses rack near the front counter, so Louis had to hope Harry found some luck in the car.

Until he took a look at the license plates outside, Louis forgot they were even in California. He’d gotten so used to the desert landscape that the thought alluded him altogether. Maybe it would finally start to sink in why they were really here. The fact that later today they were going to be sitting in an office at CBS Records to discuss a possible album deal. Nope, still didn’t feel real.

“They didn’t have sunglasses, but I bought you your favourites.” Louis held up the bottle of 7Up and the box of candy as he approached the car. Harry was standing next to the open door, front seat pushed forward. Whatever he was holding in his hand, he was examining it closely. “You find your sunglasses?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said passively, pulling at his shirt collar where the glasses were now hanging.

“I must’ve hidden them in a good spot, then, if those guys didn’t see them,” Louis said. He had, after all, hid them from Harry. At the time, he expected to be bribed for them back, but he ended up forgetting about them altogether.

“Louis, what is this?”

Harry held up a record in a blank sleeve, and Louis’ stomach flipped completely upside down. This was not supposed to happen. Harry was never meant to find his demo, especially not now. He had done such a good job of hiding it. Keeping it in the bottom of his bag, not even checking on it in case Harry ever showed up to peek over his shoulder. Slowly, Louis was realizing that he shouldn’t have brought it at all. He had no use for it. His plan was stupid and manipulative and it wasn’t what he wanted anymore. Still Daffodil was what he wanted. Making music with his favourite person in the world was what he wanted.

“Before you say anything, please let me explain,” Louis said. “And I promise, this is the complete truth. I’ll never lie to you, but you have to hear me out.”

Harry was giving him an odd look. “Go on…”

“You have to understand that when you asked me to come to LA, we were not on good terms. I had just been kicked out of the band and I was still feeling angry and resentful. When I said yes, it wasn’t a full yes. It was a ‘for now,’ I guess you could say. I wasn’t sure Still Daffodil was going to make it, so I packed my demo because I thought that I could maybe hand it off to an exec that would want to hear it. Maybe, I don’t know, they’d like my stuff, too. See that I’m just as good on my own. But that was horrible of me. Harry, I don’t know what I was thinking. That’s  _ not _ what I want.”

Louis had more to say, but Harry was already shaking his head with his eyes closed, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Listen to me,” Louis continued, reaching out for his arms.

Harry shrugged him away as he tossed the record onto the seat and slammed the door. Without a word, he was storming off across the parking lot, taking the keys with him.

“Harry, please!”

“I need a second!” Harry said, voice stern, almost yelling. A refrained yell. 

There were a few picnic tables next to the convenience store. Louis could tell that was where Harry was heading, but he didn’t follow. Never in his life did Louis feel as horribly guilty as he did in this moment. His stomach was churning. He kind of wanted to throw up.

To get himself out of the sun, Louis opened the door and slid into the back seat. He dropped his head roughly against the cushioning behind him. He couldn’t believe himself. How easily he was able to fuck this up for himself. This wasn’t a silly fight. Their fights had arguments and banter and were so easy to get over. What Louis did felt dangerously like betrayal.

With a sigh that felt exhausting, Louis looked at the record that was now sitting next to him. The demo that had both shaped his life and was just about to ruin it. He loved the songs on here, but there were other parts of his life that he cared about far more. He picked it up, almost wishing it would crumble in his hands. And then he saw the name on the label.

It was  _ Liam’s  _ demo.

He scrambled to find his bag, digging to the bottom the way he just stupidly allowed Harry to do. There, folded into a sweater where he had left it, was his demo. Safely hidden from anyone who wanted to snoop, just like he intended. When he packed his bag this morning, he placed Liam’s demo on top of it.

Louis didn’t know what he felt worse about. The fact that his secret was out or the fact that his presumptuous habit was all that was stopping him from keeping it even longer. Did he want to keep it? Would it have been worth it to go on pretending like he never questioned his dedication to the band? Of course he questioned it. Hell, Harry knew he did. That was why it was so difficult to convince him to be here in the first place. But now, he didn’t want to be anywhere else on the planet. He didn’t want to be  _ with  _ anyone else. He couldn’t wait to never have to go back to that fucking Fotomat ever again. He couldn’t wait to follow Harry wherever he wanted to go.

He had to talk to him.

Louis’ approach had to be slow and casual. This was no one’s fault but his. There would be no screaming match, throwing insults back and forth. Whatever Harry felt, Louis was going to be gentle in his response. Their trip was not going to end like this.

As he walked across the parking lot, Louis crossed his hands over his chest. He kept his eyes on Harry, who was sitting alone at a picnic table and fiddling with his Swiss Army Knife. Open the corkscrew, push it back. Open the bottle opener, push it back. Louis was waiting to be stopped. If he was shooed away, he would listen. Harry could see him approaching, but he said nothing. So Louis lifted a leg over the bench and sat across from him. He wondered who should speak first.

Harry didn’t look sad. Disappointed, maybe, like your mom when she finds out you’ve been secretly feeding your helping of meatloaf to the family dog under the table because you’ve never been a fan of her recipe. Louis felt like the guy driving too fast down a neighbourhood street, unable to stop fast enough while your dog was roaming alone.

“Richie used to walk me to school every day,” Harry said softly, his eyes still on the knife in his hands. “When I was nine, he started middle school, so he had to turn left at the corner of our street while I kept going straight. On the first day of school, me starting fourth grade and him starting sixth, he stopped me and handed me this. He told me that if he couldn’t protect me, I needed something to protect myself with. It was funny because the only time I was walking alone was at eight in the morning or three in the afternoon. Our little town never had to worry about crime. But I took it and I kept it in my pocket all day, and during recess, I showed all my friends this gift that my cool big brother gave me. I’ve never used it for anything other than opening bottles and carving my initials into trees as a kid, but I always had it just in case.”

Louis nodded along. He knew how much that knife meant to Harry, who never seemed like the person who would carry a knife, even if the blade was the size of his pinky finger. He watched as Harry brushed his thumb over the initials on it.  _ R.S. _

“He always wanted me to do something great with my life,” Harry continued. “You, too. He had all the faith in the world that we were going to be huge. I’m still not sure how much of that was genuine and how much he was just trying to be supportive. When he told me he was leaving I thought, alright. I have to be the one who stays. If I finish my degree and get a good job, I’ll be doing it for him and for Mom and Dad just as much as I’ll be doing it for myself. But instead of learning to love it, I hated it more and more. Richie and I have been writing letters back and forth, never less than once a month. I told him all this, almost like I was confessing in a journal entry. I told him about you. Not everything, but about how you left too and that I needed you back in my life. He told me to stop playing safe. That by trying to protect myself I ended up just falling behind. ‘Sometimes you gotta fight life back.’ And he told me to drop out. Point blank. ‘Do it, or you’ll regret it.’ He knew I wasn’t going to end up there with him, regardless.”

“Knows,” Louis said.

Harry looked at him, confused to hear him speak.

“He  _ knows  _ you’re not going to end up there,” Louis clarified.

Harry nodded, realizing his mistake. “Yeah.” He sat with it for a moment. In the silence, Louis realized that this was the phone call they should’ve had two years ago.

“He’s excited about the band,” Harry continued. “He was even more excited when he heard you had joined. So was I. Part of me couldn’t believe you’d be coming back. I know how much we fought, especially in the last few months. I don’t think we were ready to jump into something like that so fast after the way things were left. There was this resentment on both ends that I’m not sure we even realized was there. But when you agreed to come back, Louis, I trusted your loyalty. If not to the band, then to me.”

“I know,” Louis said, having trouble looking him in the eye. “I shouldn’t have done it. Honestly, I don’t know if I would’ve gone through with it, but I considered it.  _ Seriously  _ considered it. And that’s fucked up.”

“You know what else is fucked up?” Harry said, a humourless laugh to himself. “That I kicked you out of the band. I wanted you back in my life for so long and I was about to push you away again for such a stupid reason. I don’t know what I was thinking. I think it’s fair to say my loyalty to you wavered just the same. I really am sorry.” 

Now, Harry did look sad. Louis wasn’t ready for this to become two-sided. At the time, being kicked out of the band almost felt like a mutual decision. They couldn’t stand being in the same room, but they couldn’t stand being apart. Their years of history felt too complicated to untangle. They were stuck without ever understanding why. Slowly, those tangles were working themselves out.

“Hey.” Louis reached across the table, resting his hand on Harry’s forearm. “You came back the next day, didn’t you?”

Harry looked at him, offering the tiniest smile. “And I guess you changed your mind.”

“I did,” Louis said fervently. “Of course I did. Harry, I’m so sorry I even—”

“Stop.” Harry waved away his rambling. “I get it.” He placed his opposite hand on top of Louis’. “I forgive you.”

Louis nodded. He knew he had to forgive himself, too. That could take a little more time. “Are we okay?”

He squeezed Louis’ hand tighter with a smile. “We’re okay,” he said.

But when they got back in the car, Harry still driving even though Louis offered to, something felt off. Like a barrier had arisen between them. Louis wanted that excited feeling from this morning back. The one coming from every reminder that last night actually happened. 

Ever since they met, Louis always felt that, in some way, he  _ had  _ Harry. They never got together before now, never talked about how they felt, but there was something between them that was so deeply theirs. Whatever was happening between them—a relationship, maybe—it didn’t feel like two people meeting by chance and falling in love. Enamoured and infatuated with this exciting new person. Committing to face the ups and downs of life together. For Louis, being with Harry was obvious. They met when they needed a friend. They fought when needed to learn how to compromise, when they needed to let more people in, and when they needed to learn how to be alone and how to think for themselves. They separated when they needed to grow, to experience life, to figure out what they wanted out of it. And then when they had each become their own whole, ready to love without fear or restraint, they found their way back together.

The tension must’ve been bugging Harry too because he started asking Louis about his song. When he wrote it. Why he wrote it. Louis said that it had been sitting in his mind for a few months now, but he couldn’t get the words to come out right until last night. A spark of bravery mixed with desperation had hit him as soon as he saw that spotlight and Harry watching proudly from the crowd. That was the only way he could explain it.

“Now that you know I’ve written songs about you, I have to know, have you ever written anything about me?” Louis asked, eyes quizzical, smile playful.

When Harry turned to look at him, he wasn’t smiling. His expression was earnest. “Louis, they’re all about you. Every song I’ve written. Even if that spark of inspiration came from someone else, they always circle back to you. I’ve known how I felt about you as long as I’ve known how to play music, and that feeling has never gone away.”

“I—” Louis began, catching his words before he could say something wrong. “I had no idea.”

“Yes, you did,” Harry said. “That last night I saw you before you left for New York. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t know.” He paused, filing through his thoughts, trying to organize the years of longing and what parts Louis needed to know. “I’ve been in relationships,” he said. “I’ve been broken up with. I’ve thought I was in love with people who were completely wrong for me. You’re the only person who ever broke my heart. But you needed to. We wouldn’t have worked when you left. Those two years you were gone was when I realized I missed our fights and our bickering as much as I missed the long drives and late-night music debates. And it wasn’t just that I wanted to see your face. I wanted to feel your presence every time you walked into my apartment unannounced. I wanted to hear your voice telling me how wrong I was for thinking the Beatles were going to break up, even though I was right. Without whatever love-hate dynamic our relationship had become, my life was thrown off balance. That’s why I never developed those photos until now. I couldn’t stand how much I missed you. Louis, I am so  _ fucking  _ in love with you.” 

It took a moment for the words to sink in. For Louis to realize that all this time, Harry was thinking it too. There was always something special between them. Something that always felt too complicated to fathom. But it wasn’t complicated at all. It was staring them right in the face. They were both just too goddamn stubborn to figure it out.

“You bastard,” Louis shook his head. 

Harry turned to look at him, startled and confused. 

“I can’t believe you beat me to it. I wanted to say it first!”

Harry couldn’t help his burst of laughter. “You did say it first! When you sang last night.”

“Doesn’t count,” Louis claimed. “But I  _ can _ one-up you.”

“How is that?”

Reaching into the back seat, Louis’ arm fished around until it found what he was looking for. This was the perfect idea, he thought to himself. The ultimate way to prove to Harry that he could still be trusted. To display his loyalty in one grand gesture. With him, Louis brought forward the demo that he never put away, a proud grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” Harry said, glancing at the record.

“I’m all in, Harry. You and me. Still Daffodil is my future.  _ You  _ are my future.” Louis started cranking down the window.

“Louis, wait—”

“I don’t care about this anymore.” He waved the demo in the air. “This was my past. I’m only looking forward.”

With one wide swoop, Louis tossed the record out the window like a frisbee.

“LOUIS!”

Harry watched the vinyl smash onto the road behind them, pieces scattering all over the concrete. Thankfully, the only nearby cars were going in the opposite direction, but there were plenty further back that would surely have to swerve to avoid the mess.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Harry said.

“Don’t worry, I have other copies at home,” Louis assured him.

“Yeah? Do you have more copies of Liam’s demo, too?”

Louis’ face drained of all its colour. “Aw, fuck,” he slapped his hand over his face, unable to stop the laughter from coming out. Harry was laughing, too, at the complete ridiculousness of the situation. Once is a mistake, twice is just pure stupidity. Harry appreciated the gesture, but he was sure Liam wouldn’t have thought the same. Even if it was in the name of love. They likely shouldn’t have been offering up unsolicited records in their meeting anyway, but Louis did make a half-assed promise. If anything came from this, the least he could do was put a good word in when the time was right.

Slowly, Harry pulled the car into the shoulder. He double-checked the mirror, seeing that most of the record pieces had wound up on the side of the road rather than in the middle of it. “Let’s go clean your mess up,” Harry said, just about to open his door.

“Wait,” Louis told him, realizing his gesture was all for naught if he didn’t actually  _ say it _ . 

Before Harry could reply, Louis couldn’t help himself. He pulled Harry roughly toward him, meeting him in a kiss. “I’m so  _ fucking  _ in love with you, too,” Louis said against his lips. He could feel Harry smiling at the words, wrapping his arms around him.

Even though Harry was the one who said it first, Louis wondered at that moment, who was the first to actually realize it?

~

For a twelve-year-old boy, the only thing worse than gym class was the changing room. Close behind were school dances, and for a new kid, lunch period was nothing but a chaotic, unexplored jungle. Especially when you didn’t recognize a single face.

Louis wasn’t following the rest of his class from elementary school to middle school. His parents decided to put their house on the market and moved the family across town, placing him in a whole new district. It was scary, but Louis was an outgoing kid. He’d find his way.

“Don’t get into any mischief just to make friends,” his mom told him while he was on his way out the door to catch the bus. “And if you get in trouble, make sure I don’t hear about it.”

That was her way of saying, “Have a little fun, just don’t get caught.”

As it turned out, making friends when you had to jump around between classes was pretty hard. In homeroom, no one looked him in the eye during attendance and morning announcements. The teacher of his math class was too strict to even allow conversation, which would likely cause Louis and his chatterbox personality some problems later in the year. He was dreading his lunch block, but before that came gym class.

“The game is simple. You take your socks, bundle them up into a ball, and aim for the trash bin. You get it in, you’re safe for the next week. You miss, you have to shower with your socks on and then wear them to your next class.”

These instructions didn’t come from any gym teacher, of course. Louis heard them from the bench in front of his locker as he was tying his shoelace. Quite frankly, the game sounded pretty stupid. You got basically nothing if you won, and had to do something ridiculous if you lost. Who would want to play that?

Someone who was in need of a few friends, that’s who.

And someone who was clever enough to pack a spare pair of socks in his gym bag.

“Where are we throwing from?” Louis asked, pushing his way through the crowd. He turned a few heads of classmates unexpecting of such confidence from someone they didn’t know.

“New kid, is it?” The boy conducting the game said. Louis already knew him as Dean from homeroom.

“‘Louis’ also works,” he said, bundling his socks tighter so they knew he meant business.

“Newbies have to start from further away. Try twelve feet.”

Technically, they were all ‘new’ to the school, but Louis chose to keep his mouth shut over the clarification. The other boys parted so Louis could walk backwards to what he guessed was fifteen feet. Dean kept telling him to back up further, which surely brought him to fifteen feet, at least.

“That’s good,” Dean said. “You only get one try.”

Was this really the best way to make friends?

Louis lined up his throw, making sure he had a clear shot by bending his elbow a few times. The boys around him fell quiet, only adding to the pressure. He tried not to put too much strength as he made the overhand toss. Everyone gasped as the sock ball hit the rim, then ultimately fell onto the tiled floor to a chorus of sighs.

“Too bad, Newbie,” Dean said with no sympathy in his voice. “You get to pick who goes next, though.”

“Uhh…” Louis looked around the room, seeing an array of faces that were telling him with their eyes that they did not want to be chosen. In a mild panic, he went with the boy who was standing right next to him, yet to have muttered a word. “Try it out, man,” Louis said.

The boy looked up at him, eyes wide. Louis immediately felt bad, but he couldn’t change his mind now.

“I don’t have a good arm,” the boy said.

“You’ve been picked. Come on,” Dean said impatiently. Who was this guy, the dictator of sixth grade?

The boy pulled off his socks hesitantly, hoping that maybe if he took his time he wouldn’t have to do it after all. But everyone was waiting, so he folded them together until they formed a ball. He found his footing, then squinted one eye to take aim. The boy’s throw went pretty much the same as Louis’, only he didn’t have to stand as far as a ‘Newbie,’ so his failure was met with a bit more laughter. He laughed too, at least, to show he was being a good sport about it.

When the doors to the gym burst open, the game had to come to an abrupt end. “What is going on in here?!” Demanded the coach, walking in with his expression stern and his shorts far too high. “Our basketball unit is next month. Get a move on. We’re starting off the year with a mile jog, so let’s go!”

The boys groaned as they finished getting changed into their assigned uniforms. White t-shirts with the school’s ugly bulldog logo on them, blue shorts to match. As Dean passed the two proclaimed losers of the sock throwing game, he made sure to give them a little shove. “Don’t forget. Showers after class,” he said with a twisted smile.

Louis and the other boy watched him leave, feeling defeat in their chests.

“This game is so stupid,” the boy complained to Louis once Dean was out of sight. “Showering with your socks on? Really?”

Louis turned to the boy. He looked a bit younger than the others even though they were in the same grade. His cheeks were still a little full and his eyes had an innocent glow. He was the kind of kid Lassie would find in a river, but he was likely doing something dumb to get himself in that situation. Louis could relate.

“We don’t have to shower if we don’t actually get sweaty,” Louis pointed out just as the idea crept into his brain.

The boy looked at him curiously. They were alone in the locker room, now. “What do you mean?”

“Are you afraid of getting in trouble?”

The boy considered the question, looked around the room to make sure they were the only stragglers, then shrugged. “Not if it’s just a little bit of trouble,” he decided.

“Perfect,” Louis grinned. “What’s your name, anyway? I’m Newbie, aka Louis.”

The boy put out his hand for Louis to shake, which Louis quite admired. He didn’t know any other kids who shook hands. “I’m Harry,” he said. 

“You like baseball cards, Harry?” Louis wondered as he took his hand, surprised by Harry’s grip. This seemed like a boy who would be full of surprises. He liked that in a person.

Harry smiled with an eager nod. “Got anything to trade?”

Of course Louis did. If they could make a good deal, that is. And the best place for that was under the bleachers outside, far away from everyone else. “Follow me,” Louis said.

So, Harry did. 

And just the same, Louis followed him.

He followed him to the bleachers. He followed him home from school. To the park, on weekends. To the ice cream parlour in the summers. To the drive-in with a car packed full of friends. Across the stage to get their diplomas. To the college dorm across the hall. To Los Angeles. Then Seattle, Chicago, Miami, London, Tokyo, Sydney. Wherever their music took them. Wherever life took them. As long as they were always sharing that stage. As long as Louis could look to his right and forever see that smiling face.

Louis would follow Harry for years to come, waiting for a reason to stop. 

He never found one. He never even tried to look.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, you can reblog it [here!](https://kiddleau.tumblr.com/post/613425658579812352/kiddleau-under-the-yellow-roof-by-kiddle-42k) Feel free to say hi in the comments or find me at kiddleau on Tumblr. Thanks for reading :)


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